Veritas
by once-fearful-kings
Summary: A terrifying prophecy. A cursed necklace. A deady secret. An unexpected romance. The truth is about to unfold ...
1. Dream

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, or any of its characters or plot lines. If I did, trust me - you'd know about it! xD

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**-prologue-  
_DREAM_**

_Water closed in over his head like prison bars, allowing the briefest glimpse of the outside world, but nothing more. He sank further and further beneath the surface, a mass of flailing arms and legs, wildly clawing in a vain attempt to reach the sparkling, yellow-orange light above, so teasing – but it was no use. Slowly, the light began to fade, only to be replaced by a suffocating darkness, pressing in on all sides, choking the air from his burning lungs; and with it came the cold, so intense that his fingers and toes became numb. His hair swirled around his face, passing in front of his eyes like a curtain. And all the while, he was being pulled down, down into the deepest depths of the water by some unseen force. His eyes were a swirling pool of liquid fear; as he grew light-headed, his vision beginning to fade, and he knew that it was the end. So he let himself be carried away by a will that did not belong to him …_

With a jerk, Aislin left the world of dream and wrenched herself out of bed. For a heart-stopping moment, she felt herself falling through space, before she crashed with a very loud _thud_ to the floor. The air left her lungs in a long _whoosh_, and a terrible pain shot up her back, causing her to wince. Grimacing, she lifted her arms above her head and sucked in a deep breath; still in a dream-like state, she worried for a moment that she was underwater, and that she would not be able to breathe.

But all was well. She was back in her bedroom.

A groan escaped her lips as Ash rolled onto her side, so that she could see a shaft of silvery moonlight splashed across the opposite wall, filtering in through a small gap in the curtains; Aislin focused on that and tried to ignore the dull ache that had taken up residence in her back. For what felt like a long time – but was really only a minute – she simply laid there, listening to all the sounds of the night, the sounds that were barely noticeable during the day: the constant noise of the traffic whizzing by outside, the clunking of the pipes and the creaking of the old stairs, the snoring of her father in the room next door, deaf to the world; she had fallen out of bed so many times over the years after waking from her dream that he no longer took any notice.

Growing increasingly uncomfortable lying on the hard floor, Aislin rolled back over and tried to hoist herself up. She used the bed to lean on and – with difficulty – managed to haul herself to her feet; as the blood rushed from her head, she swayed a moment, her legs still unsteady after being immobile for so long. It was only after she had climbed back into her still-warm bed that Aislin realised she was shivering. Teeth chattering, she pulled the twisted duvet back over her and pulled her knees up to her chest in an effort to warm herself once more. She became thankful that it wasn't a cold night.

As the tremors in her muscles began to subside, Aislin's thoughts drifted back to the dream – or rather, the nightmare – that had just taken place. Merely thinking about it sent her heart racing and the blood pounding in her ears; a cold sweat broke out on her forehead and hands. Image after image swam through her mind, displaying themselves to her like a reel of film, each frame horrifically clear: she saw the motionless figure sinking through the water, saw the light beginning to fade as time passed. But most oddly of all, she began to feel the cold against after warming in her bed, biting at the tips of her fingers and nose as if she were in the frigid water herself.

For as long as she could remember, Aislin had had this same dream, over and over, at least three times a week. It haunted her every night – and a lot of her waking hours – even if the dream itself did not truly take place. Sometimes, it was so terribly vivid that Ash feared going to sleep when night came.

Tonight had been one of those unfortunate nights.

It always left her with a bad taste in her mouth, a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. At nine-years-old, her father had finally given in and – despite his misgivings – had taken her to a therapist. For two years, she had gone back there, again and again, but nothing helped. Eventually, she had lied to her father, told him that the dreams had disappeared. He had smiled in relief, and cancelled the sessions.

But the dreams never stopped.

Aislin didn't know much about the dream – which was odd, considering it had stalked her throughout her entire life. Neither did she know anything about the person she saw in it. All she could tell that it was a boy, or a man. But nothing else. Not the colour of their hair, nor the features on their face. They were silhouetted against the yellow-orange light from above the surface, but nothing more. She did not know where the dream took place: it could have been the ocean, or a swimming pool – even a pond. Aislin was an observer, watching from far below, as if she, too, were drowning. She didn't even know why he was there in the first place. Had he been swimming? Had he slipped into the water? Or had he been pushed? Aislin always seemed to feel as if it were the latter, although she could not say why. But whatever the cause, it did not end well, or at least she assumed it didn't – she always woke before the end.

_Stop thinking about it!_ she scolded herself, as she did every night, for even if the dream hadn't taken place that night, her mind still wandered back to it, replaying it over and over again. _Stop it!_ Not that it did any good. During the day, Ash could attempt to occupy herself, by helping out around the house with little chores, or taking long walks, where it was easier to think of other things. But confined to her room – in the dark – the image of _him_ drowning was seared into her retina, sending a shiver down her spine like icy water.

Eventually, the dark was too much to bear: she reached out her arm and switched on the little light beside her bed. Immediately, her room was illuminated by the warm glow on the lamp, making everything appear less formidable. Aislin felt her claustrophobia subsiding as she rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. Like the rest of the room, the ceiling was painted a duck-egg blue, and on it could be found many posters and banners which Aislin had stuck there herself: a red and gold Gryffindor flag, and a poster of her favourite Quidditch Team, the Holyhead Harpies. Unlike most pictures or Photographs, the subjects in this poster moved as if they were alive, broomsticks whizzing across the frame and flashes of green and gold.

Because Aislin Sullivan was a Witch – a Witch who would soon be returning to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

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**A/N:** Hi everyone,  
Thank you for taking the time to read this far - I really appreciate it!  
I started this story a little whole ago - under the name "Enigma" - but it kind of got waylaid, so I went ages without updating.  
I decided to delete it and start again, in the hopes of keeping up this time and making it better. *fingers crossed*  
As a side note, I didn't like the last name and changed it to "Veritas", which means **truth** in Latin. And the name Aislin is pronounced: **ASH-lin**. It's an Irish name, and means either **dream** or **vision** - I thought it was appropriate.  
Anyway, please review for me - I'll love you forever!  
And tune in again soon for **Chapter One**! :)  
Thank you!


	2. Preparations

**-chapter one-**  
**_PREPARATIONS_**

Aislin woke the next morning from a restless two hours of sleep. For a long time, she had tossed and turned in her bed, thinking of the dream – whether she wanted to or not – unwilling to switch off the light, afraid of the darkness that might come crashing down around her again. Sleep had finally claimed her once again, but only for a couple of hours before the alarm clock on her bedside table beeped her awake.

As a soft, golden sunlight streamed in through the gap in the curtains and cast a warm glow across the room, Ash realised with a shock that today was the last day she spent at home; tomorrow, she would be waking up and heading off to King's Cross station, where the Hogwarts express would take her to school. Just thinking about it sent a shiver of excitement and anticipation down her spine. Part of her wished that she could fall back into sleep – a dreamless sleep – so that her last day would fly by faster. But the other part of her felt guilty for even thinking that, of wishing to leaving her father alone again while she went off to school. Granted, she could come back for the Christmas Holiday, and even the Easter Holiday, but all the same. The guilt she harboured inside of her whenever she went off to Hogwarts was something she had learnt to live with.

With a sigh, Aislin pushed the bed covers off of her and – with the greatest reluctance – pulled herself out of her warm bed, then padded a little unsteadily across the room. She stopped in front of the large calendar nailed to the back of her door, which was marked with large red crosses as Aislin had ticked off the days leading up to September 1st – the day she would be returning.

"Not long now," she whispered to herself as a small smile crept across her face.

Five moments passed, and Aislin dressed quickly, her stomach grumbling with hunger. She pulled a red t-shirt over her head and slipped on a pair of dark-blue jeans, a faded pattern on the knees and by the pockets. Standing in front of the mirror, she peered close at the dark circles under her warm-brown eyes, and groan of dissatisfaction escaped her lips. Then took a brush from the table and pulled it through the tangles of her hair, which was the colour of bitter chocolate; she pulled it back off of her face and into a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck, exposing her delicate features which she sometimes despised.

Happy, she headed out of her room and down the creaking stairs.

Aislin's Dad was already awake and seated when she reached the kitchen. Jared was a tall man with a thick mane of fair hair, which was beginning to grey at the roots; he had small, sea-blue eyes which always seemed to be smiling, and a wide grin – all things which made Aislin think she must have taken after her mother. He was currently sat in his favourite chair at the kitchen table, reading yesterday's newspaper as it was too early for him to have been out to buy the latest one. In his hand, he held a mug of steaming tea – a personal favourite – which had Dad written on the side in large, bold letters: a present Aislin had given him three years ago for Father's Day.

"Hey, Dad," said Aislin as merrily as possible, barely suppressing a yawn.

"Morning, hon," he greeted, taking a moment before looking up from the newspaper. "Sleep well?"

Lie, she had to remind herself on time before revealing all about the dream. After all, her father was still under the impression that those had stopped years ago – or at least, she hoped he was. "Yeah. Yeah, it was fine."

Perhaps Jared noticed the false tone in her voice, or the dark shadows under his daughter's eyes, because he narrowed his own at her suspiciously; in response, she tried to keep her face as impassive as possible. After a moment, Jared placed a smile onto his lips and dismissed it. Aislin let out a deep breath of relief: if he had asked again, she knew she wouldn't have been able to lie to him, but she didn't want to have to admit the truth to him, either. Hurriedly, she crossed the room and placed two slices of bread in the toaster – remembering how differently she ate breakfast at Hogwarts – while her father hummed a familiar tune under his breath; it was a tune from her childhood.

When the toast popped up a couple of minutes later, Ash quickly placed the slices on a plate and buttered them before they could get cold. Then she took the seat opposite her father, with the feeling that he was about to say something to her, or at least wanting to, simply by the way he kept opening his mouth, and then closing it again.

"You OK, Dad?" Aislin asked, raising her eyebrows enquiringly.

"What? Yeah, fine!" her father responded, maybe a little too quickly.

Aislin was dubious, but she bit into her toast and said nothing else – if her father wanted to tell her something, he would say it in his own time. But all the same, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something wrong, and all she could think was that perhaps her father was unhappy about her going off to Hogwarts the next day.

Six years previously, when Aislin had first received her acceptance letter to Hogwarts school, Jared had been twice as shocked as she was; he was a practical man, who liked to live in the real world, and the thought of sending his daughter off to a strange, magical school had sent conflicting emotions through him: on the one hand, he had been happy for his daughter, and hoped that she would fit in better at this new school than she ever had at her old one; but on the other hand, he worried about her being so far away from home – and for so long – in a place he didn't know and likely never would.

Ever since, Ash's father had been extremely supportive of her – especially when she'd returned home at the end of each year and explained to him how much she had loved it: how much she loved the castle, and the lessons, and how many new friends she had made, even though she missed them like mad over the Summer Holidays. But all the same, he did not like her being so far away from home, from him.

It was strange for Aislin, coming back to this small house during the holidays, away from the place she lived her life for the rest of the year. At home, she could not use magic, and had to revert back to her old ways; she could no longer watch Quidditch, and nor could she subscribe to the Daily Prophet to keep up with the latest news in the Wizarding World; what would people think if they saw owls flying backwards and forth to her house every day? Sometimes, she longed to be in the castle again so much that she dreamed of it – well, when she wasn't dreaming about anything else, that is …

"All right, Dad, out with it!" Aislin snapped suddenly – and a little more harshly than she had intended – when she saw him look up in her peripheral vision and open his mouth once more to speak.

Jared hesitated momentarily, looking a little taken aback by his daughter's outburst. He wasn't the best of talkers, and it was clear to Aislin that something was troubling him.

"I just …" he started, then trailed off. When he began to speak again, he seemed to have decided against continuing down that road and had changed course. "Aislin, are you sure you're … happy – at Hogwarts, that is?" Even though it had been six years now, Jared still had trouble repeating the name of her school out loud, as if it still hadn't sunk in yet: that his daughter was a Witch, and went off to a school – or a castle, to be more precise – for almost an entire year, and to learn magic.

To her embarrassment, Aislin felt a blush creeping up to her cheeks. She ducked her head and quickly mumbled out the reply, "Yes, of course. W-why do you ask?" Ugh, even to my ears that sounded pathetic.

"It's just that sometimes you seem – well, unhappy … as if you don't want to leave," her father observed, carefully avoiding her eyes and taking another sip from the mug of tea in his hand.

Sometimes I don't, Ash thought sadly; instead, she said, "I just don't like leaving you here on your own, Dad, that's all. I just … feel guilty sometimes." She was happy to see the muscles in her father's face relax a little.

"You don't have to worry about me!" he told her, a broad grin stretching across his face. "No, I'm fine here – and I still see you in the holidays, don't I?"

"That's true," Aislin mumbled, but her voice was drained out by the sound of Jared's as he continued to speak.

"I was worried for a while, y'know. I thought … perhaps you were being bullied or something like that. I mean, I hoped you weren't of course, but I did wonder. You know you can talk to me though, don't you, Pip?" He smiled. "If there's anything trouble you – anything – you let me know straight away. All right?"

Fixing a false smile onto her face, Aislin nodded. "OK. Thanks, Dad."

* * *

Throughout the rest of the day, Ash's complex of emotions made her head hurt. Sometimes – when she was eager to be back at Hogwarts, no matter what took place while she was there – the time seemed to crawl by at the pace of a snail, teasing her. At other times – when she wished to make the most of the last hours with her father in the Muggle World – time seemed to whiz by in blur of black and white. In her excitement and agitation, Aislin became restless, pacing about the house to make sure she had everything packed, and sometimes even hoping she had lost something so that she would have to look for it.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Jared asked later that day – for the umpteenth time; he popped his feet up on the coffee table and switched on the television and proceeded to flick through each and every channel, mumbling curses to himself when he saw that nothing decent was showing.

"Yes, Dad, I'm fine," Aislin assured him – for the umpteenth time. But was she? Aislin didn't know any more. "I just … get nervous when I have to go back, that's all. Y'know, getting into that routine again, after being lazy over the holiday. It's strange." Of course, this wasn't entirely true, and Aislin hated lying to her father, but she couldn't bear the thought of him worrying about her while he was here at home and could do nothing to help. After all, there was no other choice but to go to Hogwarts: she had to learn to control her 'powers', and she had to learn about the Wizarding World, with its many creatures and spells, rules and regulations. She didn't see the harm in temporarily blindfolding her father, concealing him from the full truth – especially when that truth would do more harm than good.

Besides, it wasn't as if Ash hated going to Hogwarts. In fact, most of the time, she loved being there, with all its secrets to uncover, unexpected twists and turns, the spells and wonder … The only thing that dampened her spirits were the people in it.

"As long as you're sure," Jared muttered, having found that there was indeed a football match on this evening, and having found that he was already engrossed in it.

When Aislin came downstairs a little under an hour later, the match was at half-time and the adverts were still rolling. She traipsed into the living room, biting her fingernails and all the while sure that she had forgotten something.

Jared set down the remote and turned to look at her. "Do you have everything packed, ready for tomorrow?"

"Pretty sure – I double checked this time!" Aislin told him, remembering the incident the last year where she had managed to forget her wand; racing back home had not been fun.

The previous weekend, Aislin and her father had taken a trip to Diagon Alley, where Aislin had managed to find all of the school supplies that she would need for her sixth year at Hogwarts: new school robes – as her others were now too small – and new books, and a trip to Gringotts bank among many other things. As usual, her father had gawked at all the magical things around him, fascinated and intimidated at the same time. He had pointed to the latest broomstick that had been released in Quality Quidditch Supplies, andhe had whistled in amazement as he looked through the window of Flourish and Blotts; his eyes had fallen open wide when he saw Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, which – out of all the shops – the latter had been the one that Aislin was most anxious to see this time around. Once or twice, they had almost bumped into some Slytherins that Ash knew from school, and had carefully directed her dad around them and away, careful that he did not stare too long at the shops that had been boarded up and closed down, such as Olivander's.

"Is this what your life is like?" her father had asked as they were heading back to The Leaky Cauldron.

Aislin had shrugged in reply. "Pretty much."

At the end of the day, both father and daughter had been sad to leave the jovial hustling and bustling of Diagon Alley.

"You're like your mother, y'know," Jared mused, his blue eyes taking on a glazed look, as if he were deep in thought, his mind somewhere far away. "She was always so well organised, without even trying. Me? Well, let's just say that I'm surprised I've been able to manage this house for so many years."

"Me too!" Aislin joked, playfully punching his shoulder.

"Cheeky."

When nine o'clock rolled around, Aislin was exhausted. The lack of sleep the night before and the appearance of the dream had left her drained. She gave her father a good-night kiss on the cheek, then made her way up to bed, noticing how quickly the sky had grown dark as she shut her curtains.

As she went through all the motions of getting ready for bed, Aislin's mind wandered to the events of the next day, contrasting thoughts bouncing off the wall of her brain. For an entire two months now, Aislin had been looking forward to this day, and dreading it at the same time; now that it was almost upon her, nerves were beginning to set in, harder than ever. It made her jittery. On the one hand, she would be off to Hogwarts again, to the place that had accepted her – in one way, if not the other. On the other hand, there was those that attended the school, student and teacher alike. Even after five whole years attending the school, Aislin still managed to be as unpopular as when she had arrived, scared and alone, in her first year.

Maybe this year, for the first time, Ash could change that …

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**A/N:** The much anticipated first chapter. Haha.  
OK, so I know it's a little slow at the moment, but I wanted to squeeze in a little character history and the relationshop with her father.  
It'll become pretty important later, I promise!  
The pace will pick up soon - another promise!  
So join me again soon, for chapter two: **Aislin's worst nightmare will be realised**!


	3. Those Last Goodbyes

**-chapter two-  
****_THOSE LAST GOOD-BYES_**

Despite being a Monday, King's Cross was busier than Aislin had ever seen it. People bustled through the station, their voices rising and falling, reverberating off of the walls and coalescing, so that together they sounded like a large swarm of angry insects. It reminded Ash vaguely of the Slytherin students at her school, and the effect was both immediate and involuntary: a dull throbbing behind her tired eyes, and an irrational urge to hurt something – or some_one!_

That morning, she had her father had dragged themselves out of bed ridiculously early. Aislin, because she had barely slept a wink anyhow, and her father because he was determined to get his daughter onto that train dead on time. All morning, they had rushed around, eaten like starving people, gathered their things together while Aislin checked her trunk – again – to make sure that all the possessions she would need were right there, and not forgotten. Most importantly, she looked for her want, checking to make sure it was tucked between her dark-green shirt with the floral pattern and her book on _Advanced Potion Making_.

"Don't be nervous," Jared had told her on the drive there, as he had done so every year on their car journey to King's Cross. "Everything will be fine – you'll settle back into the scheme of things soon. And remember, if you need anything, you just write to me."

Aislin had promised – somewhat distractedly – that she would, and that had been good enough for him.

By the time they had reached the station, Aislin's nerves had doubled, and it took all of her energy not to let it show in front of her father – she didn't want him worrying about her, especially when he had so many other things to worry about. So she kept her face collected, and controlled her breathing until it was steady.

Now, Ash stood against the barrier of Platform Nine, staring at the clock on the far wall and the hands ticked by. The time read 10:49 AM. Not long now – she'd leave it a couple more minutes, then board. Jared lounged against the barrier beside her, pushing the trolley with her belongings on it backwards and forwards with his foot, as if he were not aware that he was doing soon.

"I still can't believe you're going again," he said eventually, the tension appearing in his voice. "It only felt like yesterday that you came back."

Aislin wished her father wouldn't say things like that – it only multiplied her guilt. She turned to him and smiled sadly. "I know, Dad, but I'll be back for the holidays. Maybe we could go somewhere really special for Christmas." She was trying to sound optimistic, but wasn't sure if she'd succeeded. She didn't like leaving her dad alone in the house all year, and each time she left, she felt as if she were deserting him, somehow; perhaps it was the sad expression on his face, or the resignation in his voice.

"Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good!" He smiled and ruffled her hair as he had done many years ago when she was still a small child, little enough for him to swoop her up into his arms. "You can think about it while you're away."

Grudgingly, Aislin turned back to the clock and grimaced: just over seven minutes until the Hogwarts express set off.

"Everyone, hurry – you're going to be late!" came a shrill voice from her left. It was a voice Aislin had heard every year as she waited for the train. Smiling, she span around and saw a family of red-heads make their way across the platform, appearing in a bit of a rush. They consisted of a plump woman with messy hair, a tall man wearing a bowler hat and a very strange coat, and four kids trailing behind them, two with the same shock of red hair.

_The Weasleys_.

Stood back a little from the rest of the group were the other two kids, a girl and a boy. One of them had a head of bushy brown hair and dark-brown eyes. The other was a tall boy, with dark hair and large round glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

_Harry Potter_.

Feeling the colour rush to her cheeks, Aislin turned away, hoping that her father hadn't noticed. No, he was whistling now, and looking out across the station as trains rolled to-and-fro, apparently oblivious to his daughter's embarrassment.

Cautiously, Aislin turned her head again and watched as one of the Weasley's fell back next to Harry Potter: Ron Weasley. He was slightly taller than Harry, with a long nose and a smattering of freckles across his cheeks. Sneakily, she watched as Ron said something to Harry, who smiled in response, his green eyes crinkling at the sides as he did so, while Hermione Granger looked on disapprovingly.

Harry and Ron had been best friends since their first meeting, six years ago now, on the Hogwarts Express. Since then, their friendship had grown, hitting some rocky land a couple of times along the way, but always coming back stronger than before. Hermione Granger had been a different matter: their friendship with her – especially throughout the first couple of years – had been off and on again all the time, although they all seemed to have grown closer as the time had passed. Aislin remembered all the times she had watched them over the years: at breakfast and lunch and at dinner. She remembered the way they laughed together – whilst often looked on reproachfully by Hermione – and envied them their friendship and ease with each other. Aislin wished for a friendship like that: a friendship where she wouldn't be judged simply because of her heritage, or because of the people she spent most of her time with, either willingly or not.

But seeing those three friends again made Aislin forget about her guilt and her nerves – because those three kids were the ones that made Hogwarts what is was.

"Ron, Harry, Hermione – you three go first, dears," suggested Mrs. Weasley, ushering them forward. Together, they pushed their trolleys forward; then, Harry and Hermione following behind Ron, they ran at the barrier between platforms Nine and Ten. Ash watched, still unable to fully believe it, as one after the other, the three friends seemed to melt into the barrier, while the Muggles all around simply walked by, unable to see. Being a Muggle, Aislin's father noticed nothing, either.

After that, the rest of the Weasleys followed, one by one – even Mr. and Mrs. Weasley – all disappearing through the barrier as if it were only mist. Aislin watched the space where they had disappeared, then turned to her dad.

"I should probably go now," she told him sadly.

He sighed and patted her shoulder affectionately. "I'll miss you!"

"I'll miss you, too!" And with that, Aislin stepped forward and threw her arms around her father's next; he hugged her back briefly, then let go, wiping something away from his eye as he did so.

"Here – before you go, I want you to … to have this." Jared reached into the pocket of his jacket and drew out a small, cube-shaped parcel. "It was your mother's," he explained at the puzzled look on Aislin's face. "She left it to me when – well, before. I think she'd want you to have it."

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, Aislin took the parcel from her father's outstretched hand. "What is it?"

"Open it later – you'll see!"

Aislin nodded, and enfolded the little parcel in her own pocket. "Thank you!"

Jared smiled, then said, "Now go."

The lump in her throat was making it harder for Aislin to breathe. Hurriedly, she took the trolley of her belongings – afraid that tears might escape her if she were to wait around any longer – and stepped away from her father, so that she was looking towards the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Every year, it seemed to grow larger and larger – and definitely more solid – and every year, Aislin grew more and more nervous. It was completely ridiculous, of course; she had taken this journey so many times she should have been used to it by now. But she kept thinking that this was all too amazing, too surreal, to be anything other than a dream. She could wake up at any moment …

Ash offered her father one last wave, and remembered how the Weasleys had run at the barrier as she did so. It was without fear, or hesitation – just a general excitement as they could wait no longer to board the train.

"'Bye, Dad," she called to him over the thrum of the rising and falling voices. "I'll see you soon."

_Love you_, he mouthed back to her.

Taking a deep breath, she turned back to the barrier. Gripping the handlebar of the trolley so hard that her knuckles turned white, Aislin started to run, gaining momentum as the brick wall loomed every closer. She braced herself, the logical part of her mind telling her that she was going to crash, while the other demanded that she break all the laws of physics and continue to run, not to break her stride. And then it was far too late to turn back, even if she had wanted to. She held her breath and closed her eyes, then counted to ten as she passed through the barrier as though it were not there, and out on to the other side.

* * *

Jared watched with bated breath as his daughter readied herself to run through the barrier. On more than one occasion, Aislin had explained to her father how it worked, and what it felt like, but he still clenched his fists together as she ran full-pelt towards what appeared to be solid wall. With her dark hair flying out behind her, Jared thought she looked just like her mother when they had first met, all those years ago …

It had been so long, and yet Jared remembered it as if it were yesterday. Strangely, they had met at this very station – one day, many summers ago – and he couldn't help but think he had come full circle, back to where to where it had all begun.

Jennifer had been a little shorter than Ash was now, with long dark hair that had reached all the way down to her waist. Her warm, mischievous eyes had met his, and from that moment on, he had been transfixed, never to look away.

On that day, they had caught the same train together, back to a little town in Hampshire. Back then, it had seemed to much younger, so much more beautiful, with large fields that were rich and green; Jared remembered the smell of freshly cut grass, and the flowery scent of her hair as they had spent many a day together in the plush countryside. More than ever, Jared yearned for those days to return to him, even if it were only for a short while.

Looking at Aislin was like looking at Jennifer again. His daughter had inherited her mother's strength and bravery, the tough edge that most people seemed to miss; but she had also inherited those same eyes, like melted chocolate, and that flowing hair that was highlighted with gold and red.

One moment, Aislin was there – and then she was gone. Just like her mother.

* * *

For one long, strange moment, Aislin felt completely weightless, as if suddenly gravity did not exist, as if she were floating in the air. But then she emerged on the other side of the barrier, onto an entirely different platform – into a completely different world – and standing under a creaking wooden sign which read:

_Platform 9 _¾

Despite her previous misgivings, Aislin now felt that familiar tide of exhilaration inside of her as she stared out across the platform. It was surging with countless Witches and Wizards, some of whom were so small they had to be attending Hogwarts for the first time this year. Ash remembered standing on this very platform six years ago, just as small, and peering around with awe, butterflies dancing in her stomach.

Others were older students, while some were parents or guardians, waving good-bye to their children for another year. Briefly, Aislin saw Mrs. Weasley saying good-bye to her youngest child – and only girl – Ginny. But then they were lost from sight as the crowd grew thicker, and a cloud of steam rolled over the platform, issuing from the old-fashioned train perched on the tracks and enveloping the crowd in a white mist. A sharp whistle emanated from the train, signalling for everyone to start climbing aboard – lest they were to be left behind; the words, _Hogwarts Express_, were engraved on a round plaque at the front of the train.

As Aislin attempted to push her way through the vociferous crowd, she caught small glimpses of other students that she knew – or rather, recognised: there was Seamus Finnigan, chatting animatedly with his close friend, Dean Thomas, as they filed aboard the train; Colin Creevey, snapping shots with his camera; even Pansy Parkinson from Slytherin, who scowled at Aislin as she passed. Others she recognised, but could not put a name to their faces, while others looked so completely alien to her that she guessed they must be new to the school. She did not, however, see Harry Potter again.

Aislin couldn't help the feeling of disappointment she felt inside of her.

Eventually, she came across a Porter who took her trolley and began to load her luggage into the back of the train, where it would be collected at Hogwarts. All she kept was a shoulder bag with all the things she might need on the journey: her father had packed her a lunch, and there was also money for sweets if the little old lady with the trolley came along.

The whistle blasted once again, and that was when everyone truly began to hurry. Parents pushed their children towards the train, and so many began to run that Ash was afraid she might be in danger of being pushed to the ground and trampled on. Instead, she made sure she moved with the crowd, determined not to be left behind.

With a feeling of relief, Aislin stepped aboard the train, and left the Muggle World far behind.

* * *

Getting on the train last had ensured that Aislin had not been pushed around too much, although it had proved impossible to find a compartment with enough room for one more. Once the _Hogwarts Express_ had pulled out of the station and the relatives had been left behind, the crowds in the walkways had begun to thin, and everyone had quickly chosen a place to sit with their friends.

Now, Aislin wandered through each carriage, looking for somewhere that she could sit for the rest of the journey, whilst wondering when it had gotten so mad? The year before, Aislin had managed to find a place easy, and although the Hufflepuffs she had sat with had not extended their conversation in her direction – had in fact pretended that she was not even there – she had accepted that gladly, as it was better than how she was usually treated, and spent her time reading or looking out of the window at the beautiful view outside. The journey to Hogwarts always was beautiful, after all.

Incessant chatter filled the air as Ash made her way through the train, checking compartment after compartment. She caught snippets of conversation as she went along, most of which were discussions about the summer holidays, the upcoming year, Quidditch, homework and exam results. Once, Aislin even stopped to listen to quite a long discussion by an open compartment about the Holyhead Harpies – realising just how much news she missed out on while she was away from Hogwarts – but when the group of fifth-years caught her eavesdropping, they cast her looks of disapproval; she turned scarlet with embarrassment, pursed her lips together and pressed on, now determined to find somewhere to sit.

Once, she passed the compartment where Harry Potter was sitting, along with Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood. Aislin felt a strong urge to join them, to grit her teeth, walk in and ask if she could sit with them for the remainder of the journey. But just as she was about to open the door, she lost her nerve and stepped away.

Aislin remembered all the newspaper articles she had read about the _Chosen One_ over the past couple of years. Just the previous term, everyone had had him pegged as a liar. Now, after that night at Ministry of Magic, it seemed that he was once more the hero everyone had known he was all along. As she passed compartments of so many assorted students, Aislin heard them talking about it, mostly in whispers; it was rumoured that there had been a prophecy, and that Harry would be the one to kill the Dark Lord.

It was hardly surprising.

_I've never seen so many students before_, she thought, as the entire train rattled going over a little bridge and out into the countryside.

Eventually, Ash admitted defeat and headed towards the back of the train, where she knew the Slytherins would be gathered. It wasn't her first choice at how she wanted to spend her journey, but her legs were beginning to ache from wandering around the _Hogwarts Express_ for so long, and she needed to sit down; clearly, there was no room for her anywhere else on the train, and there always seemed to be more room at the back.

_Can't imagine why_.

So dejectedly, Aislin began to make her way towards the back of the train, passing compartments of happy students, sitting together with their friends and talking about their summer. Aislin envied them their acceptance, the way they all fit in to their little groups, had best friends, and a group of friends who weren't quite their best friends but still good friends. She envied the way so many of them had come together in their first year and had never looked back since. She envied the way they could confide in each other with anything, and could relate to each other. She wished – as she had done so on many occasions – that she could be welcomed into a group like that without feeling like an outsider, glancing in through a window.

As predicted, the back of the train was far quieter, although even these compartments seemed mostly full. Aislin couldn't believe her eyes. The rest of the school always seemed to stay away from the Slytherins, keeping at a safe distance. So while the rest of the train was usually teeming with life, the back of the train – where the Slytherins always seemed to hang out, as if they had taken up a permanent residence there – teemed with an unspoken tension; apparently Slytherins couldn't even get along well with _each other_. So to see that there were more students here was quite a shock – they couldn't all be from Slytherin house, could they?

Aislin found a couple of compartments with enough room for her. Now was just a case of deciding which was the lesser of two evils.

This was not going to be easy.

In the first compartment sat Pansy Parkinson and her little crew of gossipers. They were all crowded close together while the ringleader – Pansy – whispered some story or other to them; they all giggled in unison, not as if they really found it funny, but were afraid not to. Apparently, they had not reached Hogwarts yet and they were already spreading rumours, which would no doubtfully be spiteful ones.

Nope, Ash couldn't sit with them. Throughout her entire life at Hogwarts, Pansy Parkinson had always found every little thing to pick at, whether it be Aislin's clothes, her hair, or her general taste in books. She could never stop talking, even for five seconds yo catch her breath, and Aislin didn't think either of them would survive if she were to sit with them on the journey – the constant chatter would do her head in.

So that left Draco Malfoy and his little gang of miscreants. They consisted of Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Blaise Zabini, and of course, the Malfoy Prince himself. They were all sat in the same compartment, but none of them seemed to be talking. Zabini was picking at his finger nails, seeming completely bored and wishing to be somewhere else entirely. Crabbe and Goyle were looking around blankly as if they weren't sure where they were, let alone wishing to be somewhere else. And Malfoy was sat in the corner by the window, staring outside, his brow furrowed and his eyes glazed, as if he were deep in thought.

In the end, Aislin picked Malfoy.

While Pansy had always picked on Aislin, bitching about every little thing, Draco never really seemed to have taken much notice of her – in fact, he pretended as if she did not exist, as if she were not worthy of his attention, whether it be good or bad; on the rare occasion that they had ever been seated together in a lesson, he had ignored her entirely. In her earlier days, Crabbe and Goyle had made fun of her heritage, but upon realising they never got a response from her, they had quickly given up, setting their mind upon more important issues – like food. Blaise seemed to be the only one who might cause trouble – looking for some amusement due to his obvious boredom – but Ash was used to blocking out his infrequent and unpredictable remarks.

It was, indeed, the lesser of two evils – only just, mind, but the lesser all the same.

And as she decided this, Aislin couldn't help wondering why Malfoy and Pansy weren't together in the Prefect's carriage, or out on a round of the train, checking on the students' behaviour.

Taking a deep breath, Aislin opened the compartment door.

"All right if I join you?" she asked with false cheer. In unison, four heads turned in her direction. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle both had an equal mixture of confusion and and resentment on their faces. Zabini's face lit up, and Aislin could tell he was probably thinking up some kind of jibe to send her way. And by the time she looked up into Malfoy's face, it was already turned the other way, facing back out of the window. "Great, thanks," she added at their lack of reply. Not that she needed their permission, she reminded herself.

"What's _she_ doing here?" Goyle asked Draco, pointing to her as if she were little green alien with eyes the size of dinner plates.

"_She_ is right here," Aislin responded acidly as she shut the compartment door behind her.

Blaise was sat closest to her, alone by the door; he attempted to trip her over as she pressed her way inside, but at the very last moment she managed to dodge out of the way, then carefully avoid Crabbe and Goyle who – sat on the opposite side of the compartment to Blaise – tried to follow suit. She threw them a dark glare and made her way toward the window; she slipped her bag off of her shoulder and threw it up into the luggage rack above their heads, narrowly missing Malfoy's head. Then, sighing heavily and keeping out of everyone else's way, Ash sat herself down in the only seat left available – the one by the window seat and opposite Draco. It wouldn't have been her first choice of seating, but unless she wanted to stand for the rest of the journey – or, _worse_, sit next to Pansy Parkinson – it seemed this was the option left.

_Wow, quiet as the grave in here_, Aislin thought – not that she was complaining – tugging her iPod out of her pocket and placing the headphones in her ears. Until the train rolled into the station at Hogsmede, it should continue to work; and even if it didn't, it would still be a good excuse to ignore the others.

Malfoy eyed the gadget with disdain, but quickly looked away again when Aislin raised her eyebrows challengingly at him; thankfully, he remained quiet.

Once Aislin had sat down, Blaise positioned himself so that he was even closer to the door, almost hugging the wall. Crabbe and Goyle didn't seem to know what to do; without instructions from Malfoy, the pair seemed completely at a loss. Draco pointedly ignored her, just as she had expected. If the journey continued like this, Ash mused, it wouldn't be _so_ terrible.

Of course, as soon as Aislin thought this, her worst nightmare was realised.

* * *

**A/N:** The action will get going soon - double promise! This was acting as an in-between chapter, really.  
So, Aislin's on her way back to Hogwarts, and she's travelling with Slytherins. **Not good**!  
Please review, and stop by for chapter three. Aislin's worst nightmare will be revealed,  
and some **uninvited guests** stop by!


	4. The Long Journey

**-chapter three-**  
_**THE LONG JOURNEY**_

_As first days go, this isn't the best!_

"Hello, Draco," Pansy Parkinson crooned as she slid open the compartment door, apparently unaware that there were four other people present to witness her cringe-worthy remarks. She was a pug-faced girl with thin black hair that fell to her shoulders and dark eyes. Draco looked up at her indifferently, seemingly unsurprised by her visit.

Aislin groaned inwardly a shifted in her seat, so that she was as close to the window as she possibly could be without actually hanging out of it. She wished that she could crank the volume on her iPod right up without it perforating her eardrums.

_In my next life, I'd better come back as something good!_ she thought bitterly. _Or a Gryffindor_.

For whatever reason, Goyle suddenly began to laugh; Ash looked up at him with confusion etched onto her features and wishing that she found the situation as funny as he did. Then Crabbe whacked his friend over the back of his head with the palm of his hand.

"Idiot," he grumbled.

_You're one to talk!_

Pansy came sauntering into the compartment, a smirk playing the the corners of her lips as Blaise moved his feet out of the way for her. She took her seat next to Draco in the fairly non-existent gap between him and Crabbe. There was more room on the other side of Malfoy, although he didn't seem to want to make any more space for her; he remained where he was and looked at her with a slightly irritated look on his face, which went unnoticed by Pansy and struck Aislin as odd.

It was then that Pansy noticed Aislin sat across from her.

"Hmm. What's _she_ doing here?"

_Why is everyone acting as if I'm not even in the same compartment?_ Aislin wondered, although did not voice this aloud.

Draco shrugged.

"Hmm." Parkinson sat back with her arms folded across her chest and looked at Aislin with scorn, her lips pursed into a thin line; then her eyes drifted down to the floor. "And what _is_ she wearing?"

Aislin followed her gaze, and smiled at her red trainers. Proudly, she lifted one foot off of the ground and said, "Converse, All Stars. Best shoes in creation!"

Pansy looked at her with a raised eyebrow, as if she had suddenly gone crazy, while Blaise snorted in amusement. Draco was staring at her shoes, although his eyes had that distant look again, as if he were staring straight through them rather than _at_ them. Crabbe and Goyle appeared not to have noticed anything, however, as at that moment, Goyle had pulled sweets from the pocket of the large black jumper he wore – which was still a little too tight on him – and they were greedily beginning to scoff at them.

It seemed that no one had a reply to that, so the compartment fell back into silence, to Aislin's delight. But it didn't remain so for long.

"Oh, Draco – you'll never guess what Millicent Bulstrode just said …"

_No rest for the wicked, eh?_ Aislin wondered, turning the volume on her iPod up to twenty in an attempt to tune out the Slytherin's whiny voice; she could still be heard twittering on, but it wasn't quite as mind-numbingly annoying as before.

This was going to be a very long journey indeed.

* * *

A couple of hours later – Aislin wasn't entire sure how long, as the minutes seemed to merge into each other when you were putting up with a Slytherin gossip – and Blaise Zabini left the carriage. A moment before and he had been handed a scroll of parchment from a third-year girl who appeared intimidated by being surrounded by such a large group of Slytherins. After making sure that Zabini had received and read his note, she quickly left again, scurrying off down the corridor.

"What is it, Blaise?" Pansy had asked, leaning forward so as to nosily peer over the top of his parchment. Throwing her a look of disdain, he sat back and pulled the note out of her sight, so that he could read it without any disturbance. His eyes skimmed over the paper, and a moment later he climbed to his feet with a sigh.

"Where you off to?" Crabbe enquired.

"Professor Slughorn wants me to meet him in Compartment C," Blaise had explained, already half way out of the door as if he wished to discuss this no further.

"Who's Professor Slughorn?" Pansy looked confused.

"That name sounds familiar," said Malfoy suddenly. "I think my father knows him, from the Ministry."

Blaise shrugged. "Must be a new teacher here," he said – and then he was gone.

"Hmm. That's strange," Pansy remarked.

"Yeah, really weird," Aislin agreed absently, swivelling around so that she could stretch out her legs along the seat that Blaise Zabini had just occupied before anyone else could replace him. She supposed that this Professor Slughorn was the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, as Professor Umbridge had left – or, effectively, been driven away from – her post the previous year. Whoever this Slughorn was, Aislin couldn't imagine he might be any worse than _she_ had been.

All thoughts of Professor Umbridge and new teachers were driven from Aislin's mind, however, as the heavy riff of _Time is Running Out_ by Muse came blasting onto her iPod. She tapped her foot against the wall of the carriage to the beat, letting her mind wander. She carefully fingered the little package in her pocket, and wondered – not for the first time – what it was her father had given her. He'd told her that it had belonged to her mother once, long ago; but her mother had owned so many things that her father had refused to throw away that she couldn't really narrow it down to anything. It was small, of course, so perhaps it was a piece of jewellery – that was all she could think of. Ash was itching to open it, but she didn't want to do so in front of four Slytherins, so kept it safely where it was, happy in the knowledge that in a few hours, she would be able to climb into bed, shut the drapes – and the world along with it – and find out what it really was.

Parkinson picked up her chatter once more, talking into Malfoy's ear constantly; Aislin was surprised that he hadn't turned around and silenced the girl with his wand yet, especially looking at the expression of deteriorating patience on his face – _she_ would have. Not that she cared, as she was quite successfully tuning Pansy's chatter out with a few, well-chosen lyrics.

Tired, Aislin leant her head back and closed her eyes, feeling the train rattling beneath her whilst picturing Hogwarts castle. Now that she knew there was no turning back, and that her father was OK, Ash felt the excitement building up inside her, the restlessness burning at her legs. She wanted to get back to her lessons again, back to the Great Hall with those magnificent feasts; she wanted to watch a Quidditch Match and explore the Hogwarts grounds in the snow. Things she did every year, yet things that never seemed to get old. Most people got bored with their lessons after a while, and fed up with their homework – but Aislin couldn't feel the same way; living so long in the Muggle World and having to sit through an entire hour of maths had made History of Magic seem _fun!_

"Leave it, Goyle – she's ugly enough as it is without you drawing things on her face."

Aislin's eyes flew open, and was startled to realise she had fallen asleep – in front of Slytherins! If _that_ wasn't dangerous, then what _was?_ The sun seemed to have begun dipping lower through the sky, heading towards the horizon in the west, which cast longer shadows of trees and hills across the landscape. How long had she been sleeping? Must have been getting on for two hours, at least! And, more importantly, what was Goyle thinking of doing with that pen?

Blinking rapidly, Aislin pulled herself into more of a sitting position and resisted the temptation to yawn.

Goyle sat back in his seat, disappointment clear on his face.

Pansy Parkinson was smirking. "All right there, Sleeping Beauty?" she mocked. "Did you know Sleeping Beauty was a Muggle that was given the Draught of the Living Death by a Witch? Being a Muggle, it's effects were more potent, and she almost died."

This was, indeed, news to Aislin; she had always thought that the story of Sleeping Beauty was just a Muggle fairytale. It had never occurred to her that it had been true, once, in the Wizarding World. Not that she said this, though – she just raised her eyebrows and looked away.

Just as the lady with the food trolley came shuffling along.

Seizing her opportunity – after realising just how hungry she was – Aislin jumped from her seat and rushed to the compartment door before Crabbe or Goyle had even noticed the woman with the food standing right there.

"Anything off the trolley, dears?" she asked, directing her question more to Aislin.

There was so many to choose from, and Ash was well aware that Crabbe and Goyle had already queued up behind her, waiting impatiently for their turn. They huffed and they puffed so much, Aislin thought that they might blow the little old lady over. In the end, she picked out a handful of Acid Pops, two Chocolate Frogs and – making sure to keep well away from Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans – a packet of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum. Handing over the money, Aislin had to squeeze back into the compartment, around Crabbe and Goyle, who were taking up far too much room. Content with her purchases, she sat down again and immediately got stuck into the Chocolate Frog, pocketing the card of Adros the Invincible to add to her meagre collection.

Pansy Parkinson had to wait a grand total of fifteen minutes before Crabbe and Goyle sat back down again with an _armful_ of sweets _each_, and she could buy some of her own.

Draco Malfoy went last, purchasing only a Liquorice Wand. He then proceeded to surprise everyone by sitting down near the door on Aislin's side of the compartment as the lady with the food trolley walked away. Pansy's pug-like face almost exploded, and she shot Aislin a glare so full of hatred that she was reminded of the saying, _If looks could kill _…

"What are you doing, Draco?" Pansy demanded, leaving her own seat and coming to sit next to an unfortunate Aislin. "Why do you want to sit here, hmm?"

Aislin rolled her eyes and sat as far away from Pansy as she possibly could, wishing that she could open the window all the way to let in some fresh air – she was still feeling a little groggy after her nap; although, the sugar in her Chocolate Frog was helping a little.

"What did you get up to over the summer then, Draco?" Pansy continued, even though Malfoy seemed to be attempting to tune her out almost as much as Aislin was.

He shrugged. "Nothing much," he mumbled, while Pansy traced her fingers down his arm and leant into his side. Crabbe and Goyle didn't seem to know where to put their faces at this sudden display of affection right before their eyes, so they busied themselves with the food that had fallen onto their laps, spilled onto the seats and floor. Ash turned the music up even louder, trying to drown out any other noise; being in a compartment full of annoying Slytherins was easier to bear that way.

Draco's answer didn't seem to be enough to satisfy Pansy, however: she continued to question him as if she were the host of a chat-show and he was her guest, grilling him for information.

Fortunately, this torture did not last for much longer, because at that moment – and Aislin could not believe she was actually grateful for this – Blaise ambled back into the compartment, looking bored and as if he might rather everyone would disappear. He stepped inside and began to slide the door shut – except it wouldn't. Frustrated, he pushed it with all his might, but it looked as if something were in the way, stopping it from closing. When Aislin looked, however, there was nothing there.

"What's wrong with this thing?" Zabini muttered angrily through gritted teeth.

"C'mon, Blaise," she mocked, a smile tugging at her lips. "Surely you can shut a door by yourself."

For her insolence, Aislin received a dirty glare in return.

Then suddenly, the door flew open again of its own accord, and Zabini – having still been clutching the handle – tumbled over sideways into Goyle's lap. Ash burst out laughing as Gregory growled at Zabini in his thuggish way and slammed the door shut before throwing Blaise off of him. Hastily, Zabini climbed to his feet and dusted imaginary dust from his clothing, while Aislin saw a quick flash of white out of the corner of her eye. She whipped her head around, her eyes darting up to the luggage rack above Crabbe's head.

There was nothing there.

Dismissing it, Aislin shook her head and had to bite her tongue to keep herself from laughing as Zabini threw himself back down onto the now-vacant seat opposite her, looking quite ruffled.

"So, Zabini – what did Slughorn want?" Malfoy asked, taking the opportunity to lean forward out of Pansy's grasp and halt her chattering in one.

Zabini – who was still throwing Goyle daggers – groaned. "Just trying to make up to well-connected people. Not that he managed to find many," he added as an afterthought. He sat back in the seat and folded his arms across his chest.

Malfoy raised his eyebrow at this, as if he were not pleased by this information. "Who else was there?" he demanded, suddenly sounding a little more like his old self.

"Uh, McLaggen from Gryffindor," Blaise replied.

"Oh yeah – his uncle's high up in the Ministry."

_You would know, Malfoy!_ Ash thought, even though she was pretending to be absolutely bored with the conversation and staring out of the window.

"— someone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw —"

"No, not him, he's ridiculous," Pansy interjected angrily.

"— and Longbottom, Potter and that Weasley girl," Zabini finished.

There seemed to be a stunned moment of silence in the compartment as Malfoy sat even further forward in his seat, eyes wide. "He invited _Longbottom?_"

"Well, I assume so, as Longbottom was there," said Blaise, as if he really could not care less. Apart from being in Gryffindor, Blaise had no problem with Longbottom, being a pure-blood after all.

"What does Longbottom have that could possibly interest Slughorn?" Malfoy cried, mostly to himself than anyone else, apparently taking this information as a personal insult. "And of course, Saint _Potter_ was invited, that one was obvious – the _Chosen One_. But the Weasley girl … What's so special about _her?_"

"A lot of the boys like her," Pansy stated, peering out of the corner of her eyes at Draco, gauging his reaction. "I mean, even _you_ think she's good-looking, don't you, Blaise? And we all know how hard you are to please."

"I wouldn't touch a filthy blood-traitor like that no matter what she looked like," Zabini replied coldly. Pansy smirked.

"I don't think that was really answering the question, though, was it?" Aislin observed, causing everyone to glance her way for the first time since she had stepped into the compartment, all those hours ago.

"And who asked for _your_ opinion?" sneered Parkinson, her cold, black eyes piercing into Aislin's head. "You're a filthy Mudblood yourself."

Three years ago, this comment may have hurt Aislin. In fact, three years ago, this comment _had_ hurt her – and on more than one occasion, too. But over time, she had grown used to little outbursts of cruelty that Pansy had thrown her way, and now they bounced off of her as if an invisible shield surrounded her brain. She shrugged indifferently.

"Well …" Malfoy continued, as if he were shifting the attention back onto himself. "I pity Slughorn's poor taste. Maybe the man's going senile. I remember my father saying that he was a good wizard, in his day. Shame. I think my father used to be a favourite of his, y'know. He probably hasn't heard I'm on the train, or he would—"

"I wouldn't bet on an invitation," Zabini warned him before Malfoy could finish his sentence. "He asked me about Nott's father when I first got there. Apparently they used to be old friends or something. But he didn't seem too happy when I told him him that Nott's father was caught at the Ministry last term, and Nott didn't get an invitation. Perhaps Slughorn isn't interested in Death Eaters." There was an edge to Zabini's voice as he said this, but Ash seemed to be the only one to notice.

A humourless laugh erupted from Malfoy's mouth, although he looked _far_ from happy to hear this himself. "Well, who cares what he's interested in, anyhow? He's just a teacher, when you think about it. A stupid teacher!" He yawned. "I mean, what does it matter to _me? _I might not even be at Hogwarts next year, so what does it matter is some fat old has-been likes me … or not?"

Whatever he said, Malfoy still appeared to Aislin as if he cared – a lot!

But Pansy frowned, looking anxious. "What do you mean, you might not be at Hogwarts next year?" Her hand dropped from his arm, and she sat back to look at him clearly.

"Let's just say," Malfoy began, "I might have moved onto bigger and better things. Whatever you say, Hogwarts is a pathetic excuse for a school, and the old man is losing it. Allowing simply anyone to walk through those gates." At this moment, he pointedly chose to look across at Aislin, his eyebrows raised suggestively. She scowled at him in response. "I think I'd rather pitch myself off of the Astronomy Tower if I thought I had to continue for another year at that place."

Blaise snorted with amusement – something he seemed to do a lot – while Aislin said, "Yeah, like you'd have the guts."

A sliver of colour rose to Malfoy's pale cheeks, but it quickly disappeared. He turned his head away from her, once more pretending that she did not exist.

_Fine by me_.

Crabbe and Goyle were staring at Malfoy as if he had just sprouted a pair of wings from behind his ears. Apparently they had heard nothing of this, and had thought nothing of their future just yet.

Aislin turned away again, but continued to listen past the music once again booming in her ears.

"Do you mean … _Him?_" came Pansy Parkinson's voice through the crackling of Aislin's headphones. Now that Hogsmede was just under an hour away, the sound was beginning to break up, the circuitry going haywire.

"My mother … wants me to complete my education." Malfoy shrugged, leaning back once more. "I don't see it as _that_ important though, these days. Think about it … I mean, when the Dark Lord takes over, is he _really_ going to care how many O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s anyone has? Of course not! It'll all be about loyalty and the levels of devotion he's shown."

Zabini gave a derisive laugh. "And you think _you'll_ be able to do something for him? Sixteen and not even qualified?"

"What did I just say? Maybe he doesn't care if I'm qualified or not. Maybe … the job that he wants me to do isn't something that needs any qualifications," said Malfoy, his voice quiet.

Pansy was gazing at Draco with wide eyes, full of awe and inspiration, as if she were just noticing him for the first time. Crabbe and Goyle, however – with their mouths open wide enough to catch flies and their expressions perfectly mimicking the other's – looked like two apes that had stumbled across a space-ship in the middle of the jungle.

Ash turned away, contemplating everything she had just heard, determined to show only apathy on her face. So Malfoy had been entrusted to a mission by the Dark Lord? She wondered what it was, what was so important that Voldemort had needed _Malfoy_ for.

_Must have been _really _desperate_, Aislin reasoned. _Could have chosen anyone_.

And why had Malfoy decided to confide in this little group of Slytherins – and _her?_ It made so sense. Surely, if he had been instructed by the Dark Lord, he would have been told to keep this … mission – whatever it was – quiet. Perhaps Draco didn't see her as a threat, someone likely to spill all. Perhaps he was under the impression that she hadn't heard all of it anyhow. Perhaps he had simply forgotten she was sat there.

_Wouldn't be the first time!_

Strange, to think that Malfoy was "working" for the Dark Lord. Very strange. What was this mission he had been set? Was it anything dangerous? Would it risk lives? Aislin found thought after worried thought strolling casually through her mind, tying knots in her stomach.

Whatever it was, it couldn't be good. From now on, she would have to be careful near him – everyone would!

Outside, the landscape rolled by in a blur of blues and greens, browns and greys, reds and oranges. The sky was that blue-purple, and the clouds were highlighted gold by the setting sun, which was just dipping below the horizon. Long shadows stretched across fields and pastures, while a flock of birds flew by overhead, their wings flapping together in perfect synchronisation.

And in the distance, a cloud of the deepest black.

"What is that?" Pansy Parkinson asked, as if she had read Aislin's mind – a thought that unnerved her more than anything else had today. Slipping off of her seat, Pansy climbed over Aislin's feet and stared at the scenery outside. "What _is_ that?"

"I think – I _think_ – it's called 'a window'," Ash responded lightly.

Pansy cast her a disparaging look. "Stupid Mudblood," she hissed. "I can see that it's a _window_. I meant _that!_" She pointed to the large black cloud that seemed to have multiplied in size in the last five seconds.

"Really?"

"It's getting bigger," Pansy cried. "Draco, come see this."

Sighing, Malfoy climbed to his feet and followed suit, pushing Aislin's feet out of the way so he could peer out of the window. Huffing, Ash moved along the seat a little so that she didn't feel as if she were being squished.

"It looks like …" Malfoy started, but he trailed off before finishing.

"Like _what_, Draco?"

His face seemed to drain of any colour he had left, leaving it an unhealthy grey, as his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Death Eaters."

Aislin felt her own heart clench in fear. _Death Eaters?_ What were they doing here? They couldn't be here, surely. Pushing her way to the window, however, Aislin saw that Malfoy had a point: they did look very much like Death Eaters. Last year, they had been all over the newspapers, photograph after moving photograph printed on the pages.

As she watched, the cloud of black began to break apart, becoming individual streaks of darkness in the evening sky, like paint trailing down a white canvass. They swirled and spiralled in the air, drawing closer and closer.

_Oh, God!_

"Are they attacking us?" Pansy shrieked, stepping away from the window. "Why would they do that, Draco? We're on their side, aren't we!"

Malfoy didn't answer. Standing beside Aislin, he seemed completely paralysed, as if he had been hit with a full Body-Bind Curse; his eyes were wide, and Aislin was sure she could see fear buried deep behind the grey of his irises.

So Malfoy was working for the Dark Lord. But he was afraid of his followers? Despite technically being one himself?

None of it made sense!

"Did you know about this?" she demanded to Draco Malfoy.

He shook his head.

_Fat lot of help _you_ are!_

"Someone needs to warn the driver!" Aislin was making her way toward the compartment door when suddenly there was a scream, further along the train, towards the middle, which was quickly followed by another – harsh and terrified. Aislin stopped in her tracks, listening hard, as another followed _that_.

Casting a quick glance over her shoulder at Draco, Aislin stepped out into the corridor, and saw others do the same further along.

"What's going on?" one of them yelled.

Heart pounding, Aislin ran to the opposite window, and her breath caught in her throat as saw another cloud of black make its way toward them from the south – and fast. Looking around wildly, unsure what to do, Aislin pulled her wand out of the pocket inside her jacket and held it out by her side, feeling a little safer with in in her grasp. With her other hand, she traced her fingers across the package in her pocket, and felt a strange kind of comfort in doing so.

Students had piled out of their compartments now, so that the corridors were milling with fearful kids, some crying, others trembling with fright. It reminded Aislin of the start of their third year at Hogwarts, when a Dementor had climbed aboard the train, spreading fear and misery. The pupils had reacted the same then, unorganised, running about as if that would save them. But on a moving train, there was nowhere to run _to_.

This was quickly becoming the worst first day of term, ever.

Wand by her side, Aislin set off in a run down the corridor and into the next carriage, where the situation seemed even worse. It was complete and utter chaos. Screaming and running, panicking, wands everywhere.

"What's happening?" a small first year cried.

"Death Eaters!"

"We're going to die!" another screamed.

From this carriage, there was a slightly better view from the window. Aislin could see them now, shapes forming in the wisps of black smoke. Now that they were so close, there was no doubt – they were Death Eaters.

And they were almost upon the train.

"Everyone, please, keep calm!"

It was Padma Patil, one of the Ravenclaw Prefects. She was moving through the carriage, attempting to calm the younger students and aid the older ones. But the young would not be calmed – one sank to the floor and cried – while the older students seemed to be at a complete loss.

"Please, everyone, take out your wands if you haven't already – you might need them!"

It was only because Aislin was standing so near that she was able to hear the Ravenclaw Prefect, but those more than three feet away could not over the cacophony of voices.

_Does the driver know?_ Aislin wondered, pushing her way through the students. Surely he must know, surely he must have heard the screaming. Surely he must know that something was wrong! And why did everyone stick together like glue in situations like these? As Aislin tried to make her way through them, the students just seemed to merge together, thwarting any such plans to make her way to the front of the train and warn the driver.

What should she do?

Suddenly, there was an ear-splitting _crash_, and the entire train rattled. Ash's heart jumped into her mouth; she whipped around, and saw a Death Eater rebounding off of the side of the _Hogwarts Express_. Except it wasn't rebounding off of the train – it was rebounding off of an invisible shield.

"They can't get in!"

One by one, the Death Eaters flew at the windows of the train, and time after time, they were stopped in their tracks by an invisible shield, which only became noticeable when the Death Eaters collided with it; a _bang_, a ripple of white, blinding light, and the Death Eaters were repelled, the sheer momentum of the impact hurling them backwards through the air, away from the windows. They cast spell after spell, but the shield did not falter, and remained in tact no matter how many flew at it, no matter how many counter-curses were thrown its way.

Angry, the Death Eaters followed the train as it picked up speed going down a gradually sloping hill, peering in through the windows at the students, blocking out the last remaining light of day. Some screamed and cowered away, hiding behind their hands, friends or older students. And despite seeing that Dumbledore had clearly protected the train to the best of his abilities, adrenaline still coursed through Aislin's veins, making her ready for any new threat that might come their way. She clenched her hands into fists and waited as the train levelled out onto flat ground, watching. At the window she was standing by, she saw a flash of wild black hair, before the Death Eater hissed and abruptly pulled away. The rest followed rapidly, letting the golden glow of the setting sun seep into the corridor.

Blood pounding in her ears, Ash rain to the window and looked outside, up into the air. But the Death Eaters had fallen behind, showing no sign that they had ever tried to attack the train. The sky was clear again, and cheers erupted throughout the train.

They were quickly dispelled.

Up ahead, a long, old bridge made from stone stretched across a deep gorge. Aislin remembered this part of each train journey far more vividly than the rest – passing over the bridge was such an amazing feeling, as looking down, you could see into a wide river which rolled along to the north, curving in and out of hills. And as Aislin watched, black streams of smoke coalesced in the sky above, spiralling and heading towards the bridge. They dipped lower and lower, alarmingly close. Ash braced herself for the impact, every muscle in her body tensed.

"Oh, my God! Look!"

Gasps of horror filled the carriage, merging together to make one long whisper.

"They're going to destroy the bridge!"

"We'll crash!"

"We're going to die!"

The Death Eaters took a sharp dive and formed a 'V' shape, like an arrow; they gathered speed as they plummeted through the air, keeping in perfect formation. They left wisps and trails of smoke behind them.

And then they crashed.

Aislin heard the cracking of stone as force of the collision tore it apart, ripping the middle of the bridge away. Large blocks of stone cascaded through the air and fell into the water below, sinking into the river bed; it left a gaping hole in the centre of the construction – a gaping hole that the train was hurtling straight towards.

The Death Eaters dispersed, splitting into groups of four and travelling away from the destruction of the bridge, back towards the train; at the last moment, they pulled upwards and flew into the sky, converging and forming a dark cloud once more. As the train grew ever closer to the bridge, the cloud of Death Eaters rapidly shrunk in Ash's line of view as they headed towards the eastern horizon, before disappearing entirely.

"Oh, God – we're going to fall!"

Aislin was pushed away from the window as students surged forwards, taking in the scene of devastation – or what soon would be. There arose a succession of gasps, screams, and yells of fear, deafeningly loud.

"What are we going to do?"

"What _can_ we do?"

_Nothing_, Aislin thought with despair.

Unless …

Standing on her tiptoes, Aislin peered over the many heads surrounded her, towards the door that lead into the next carriage. And right there, on the wall next to the door, was the Emergency Brake. If she could just get to that …

But it would be no use. There was no room to breathe, let alone move. Panicking, Aislin whirled around, and saw that the corridor back the way she had come from wasn't quite as crowded. If she could just get through this sea of kids and into the 'Slytherin' carriage, there should be an Emergency Brake on the other side of that door, too. Pulling that would bring the train to a stop, hopefully before it plummeted over the edge of the bridge.

Why wasn't the driver stopping the train, though?

With all her strength, Ash forced herself through the herd of panic-stricken students, where they parted silently for her. Once or twice, she almost tripped over a foot, or a bag that had been dropped on the floor. But each time, she forced herself on, until eventually, she reached the door to the next cabin. She thrust it open and stepped through, only to be confronted with Draco Malfoy.

"The train's about to hurtle over the bridge – now _move!_" Aislin demanded before Malfoy could speak. Stunned into cooperation, Malfoy did as he was told and stepped out of her way, his pale face drawn.

Surprised that Malfoy had obeyed – but not having time to ponder it – Aislin swung around and found the Emergency Brake on the wall.

_Please work_, she prayed. _Please, please, please_ …

"Here we go," she muttered.

Then, palms sweating, Aislin inhaled deeply and grasped the lever; with all of her might, she pulled it downwards.

A penetrating grinding sound reached her ears as the wheels of the train screeched against the tracks; it became shrill whistle. And as the train came to a jarring stop, Aislin – and everyone else on the train – was thrown backwards. Heart in her mouth, she stumbled backwards and crashed into Draco Malfoy, who had been stupid enough to stand behind her. Together, they went sprawling to the floor, where they landed with a painful _thud_.

For the longest moment, Aislin simply laid there, sure that if she tried to move, her legs would give way beneath her. Her chest was rising and falling, and her heart beat so loud and so fast, she felt sure that it might actually burst from her ribcage.

But along with that feeling came relief. They were not falling through the air, hurtling towards a river. They were on firm ground, and Aislin had never been so happy about it!

Cheers arose from every compartment and corridor from every carriage, rising and undulating in the air. They were cheers of relief and happiness, of laughter and life. There was clapping and whistling, jumping and shouting for joy.

Despite the throbbing in the back of her head where she had hit it in the fall, Aislin felt a smile creeping across her face, so wide that her cheeks hurt. But she didn't care. She buried her face in her hands and she laughed. Laughed until her stomach hurt and a stitch began to form in her side.

Eventually, she sighed and drew her hands away from her face, just as she remembered where she was.

And it was at that moment when Pansy Parkinson decided to venture out of her compartment. "Draco?" she asked, her voice slightly hysterical.

Eyes wide, Ash pushed herself off of Draco Malfoy and clambered to her feet, leaving him lying – winded – on the floor of the carriage. He seemed to be having trouble breathing; one arm was stretched out to his side, while the other was resting across his stomach. He stared up at the ceiling, grimacing as he attempting to breathe in and out.

"Oh, Draco! What happened to you?" Snapping into action, Pansy ran along the corridor; she dropped to her knees beside him, then rounded on Aislin. "What did _she_ do?"

_Still talking as if I'm not here_, Ash thought. _You ungrateful cow! I just saved you – and the rest of the student body – from dropping almost one-hundred-and-fifty feet into a ravine. You're welcome, by the way!_

Draco coughed, then sucked in a deep breath. "Nothing," he told Pansy, as she helped him up into a sitting position, fussing over his clothes, touching his arm. He looked faintly embarrassed, which was so completely out of character that Aislin thought she might be seeing things. "She … didn't do anything."

"What do you mean?" demanded Pansy, looking wildly from Draco to Aislin.

"For your information, _I_ stopped the train," Aislin spoke up, sick of being spoken to like that, and knowing that Draco wasn't going to come to her rescue. "_I_ stopped the train from plummeting over a hundred feet over the edge of a bridge and into the gorge that your precious little Death Eaters destroyed! We would have died, Parkinson – do you get that? Every single person on this train – including _you_ – would have died! Or did you fail to comprehend that?"

She could have screamed. The rage bubbling up inside of Aislin and swelling in her chest was so great that she could have lunged at Parkinson right then and pulled great tufts of hair from her head. It was only by sheer will-power that she managed to restrain herself. Instead, she settled for digging her fingernails in the palms of her hands, and scowled at the other darkly.

"How _dare_ you talk to me like that, Mudblood!" Pansy hissed, while Draco stared at Aislin in confusion and shock: over the years, she had made fun of the Slytherins around her for the way she was treated herself, but never before had Aislin spoken out like that, never showed them how much they got to her.

"Ooh, what's the matter?" Ash chided. "You can dish it out but you can't eat it? What makes you think you're so much better than everyone else? What makes you think _you_ can speak to anyone however you please – even your teachers – and yet have the audacity to complain when someone treats you the same way?"

She could have carried on all day, and perhaps even into the next one. Over the years, Aislin had thought of so many insults that she could hurl and Pansy – and actually, _most_ of the Slytherins when she thought about it – and stored them in a safe place at the back of her mind, that written down would take up pages and pages of parchment, front and back. Aislin had each one memorised, and could reel them off one by one, until she ran out of energy. But if she started now, she knew that it would never stop.

Partially satisfied, Aislin turned on her heel and stalked out of the Slytherin carriage, leaving Malfoy and Parkinson staring after her in shock, the impact of her explosion stunning them into silence.

_The thanks I get _…

In the next carriage along, students were still milling in the corridors, finding their friends and hugging each other. One second-year girl was sobbing with happiness, clinging to her older brother. Others were leaning back against the walls, sighing with relief, while some were leaning out of the windows, observing the damage on the tracks ahead. It seemed they were stuck here indefinitely.

But as Aislin watched, she saw six people – four men and two women, by the looks of it – climb out of the train up ahead. They were dressed in long trench-like coats of black, and deep shades of red and purple, with wands out at their sides. They clambered across the tracks and made their way toward the bridge, and it was only then that Aislin realised just how close they had come to falling: the nose of the train was perfectly in line with the threshold of the bridge.

"Aurors," someone stated from somewhere to Aislin's right.

Two of them made their way along it, splitting away from the rest of the group. The other four stood in front of the train, just by the bridge, their wands at the ready, keeping a look-out for another attack. Their eyes scanned the sky and the fields around them, but the Death Eaters were long gone.

It took a while, but eventually the Aurors managed to fix the bridge: they levitated chunks of stone back out of the ravine below and fixed each bit back into its correct place. They silently made their progress, and when the bridge was secure once more, they climbed back onto the train.

Another five minutes passed before the train began to move once more, blasting out a loud whistle. By this time, the hubbub inside the carriages had died down, and most of the students had slunk back into their carriages.

Now that her heart-rate had calmed and the adrenaline inside of her disappeared, Ash was now extremely hungry, and wished she hadn't left those Acid Pops back in the Slytherin carriage. There was a hollow feeling in her stomach and her muscles were trembling, both from hunger and the sudden tiredness that had begun to take hold. Now all that Aislin wanted to do was slip into bed and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep, and to wake up in the next morning fully replenished, with no memory of what had occurred the previous day.

But there was still about half-an-hour left to go until the train reached Hogsmede, and then there was the carriage ride to Hogwarts itself. So, somewhat reluctantly, Ash made her way back to her compartment; her temper was short-lived, and now all she wanted to do was eat, in the hopes that it would build her strength back up again.

_What a long journey …?_

* * *

**A/N:** The Death Eaters have **attacked** the Hogwarts Express - *gasp*  
So, what do you think?  
Hopefully you didn't mind this chapter being so long - although it's kinda appropriate, being called **The Long Journey**!  
But they probably won't all be as long as this - in fact, it's a guarantee.  
**:)**  
Please drop me a line, let me know what you thought of this chapter. It would be greatly appreciated!  
And check back soon for **chapter four **- Aislin returns to Hogwarts, and more **chaos will ensue**.


	5. Return To Hogwarts

The plot thickens, people. Haha! Please read on - it's going to get better, I promise.  
And I'd just like to say thank you to **TwilightRaver**, who has been kind enough to review each of my chapters so far.  
So, thank you, **TR** - this one's for you!

* * *

**-chapter four-  
**_**RETURN TO HOGWARTS**_

"I can see Hogwarts."

Malfoy stood and pointed out of the window, into the darkness of the night. After the attack from the Death Eaters, the light of day seemed to have faded quickly, washing the sky of colour. There was small wisps of cloud in the air, and the brightest stars were beginning to shine through; ascending behind the horizon, Aislin could see the light of the moon – which was not yet visible – creating a ring of blue in the sky.

Right now, it felt magical.

She followed the line of Malfoy's finger and smiled as she saw Hogwarts in the distance; it was a silhouette, but she could clearly see hundreds of warm, glowing lights from hundreds of different windows. The tallest towers loomed up into the dark sky, seeming as if they were reaching up into the heavens, close enough to touch the stars. For the first time in hours, Ash felt a genuine smile on her lips.

"We'd better get our robes on, then," said Pansy, touching Draco's hand just briefly with her fingers as she stood.

Ever since the attack from the Death Eaters earlier that day – and since Aislin's sudden outburst – Pansy had refused to look at her; she hadn't even seized the opportunity to make fun of Aislin when she'd almost fallen again on the way back to the compartment. Not that there was any problem with that.

Aislin stood and pulled her bag down from the luggage rack running along the wall above her head. From inside, she pulled out her black school robes and slipped it on, just as everyone else decided to do the same. There was fighting for room from Crabbe and Goyle – there was increasingly little space in the compartment – which Aislin quickly dodged. She slipped her iPod – which had almost been lost in the pandemonium earlier – back into its rightful place, in the inside pocket of her bag. Then she checked that she still had the parcel her dad had given her, and decided that she was ready to go, just as the train rolled into Hogsmede. However, there was no leaving just yet – Goyle was blocking the door.

Draco was frowning at the luggage rack above his head, but as he caught Aislin's questioning eyes, he dipped his own and locked up his trunk. Personally, Aislin thought that a bag which hung on your shoulders was much more convenient, but …

The corridors outside the compartment were quickly beginning to fill again as the students filed out of their cabins and gathered together, chatting excitedly.

Giving a final lurch, the train rolled to a rather more graceful stop than it had earlier. Thinking about it again sent shivers down Aislin's spine, and for the hundredth time, she wondered why the Death Eaters had tried to attack the train. Admittedly, they had failed, but what if Dumbledore had not placed such effective shields around it? What would have happened to everyone on board?

_Don't think about it!_ she scolded herself firmly. She hitched her brown bag onto her shoulder just as Goyle threw open the compartment door and shouldered his way out into the crowd, pushing anyone who got in his way aside. Zabini followed with Crabbe not far behind, who was carrying the last of his sweets in his arms. Aislin went next, pushing past Pansy who was waiting for Malfoy, her hand outstretched.

"Come on, Draco," she said, wiggling her fingers as if this might encourage him to comply; she seemed almost desperate that he take her hand.

"You go on," Malfoy said, dismissing Pansy's offer. "I just want to check something."

Aislin, who had been watching this with a look of barely contained amusement on her face from outside the compartment, sniggered as Pansy rushed past her, features contorted into a mask of anger.

"Filthy Mudblood," she muttered as she went, disappearing into the crowd of Slytherins.

Ash turned back to the compartment just when Malfoy was shutting the door; their eyes met briefly through the window; they seemed to say, _Leave_. As she narrowed her eyes at him, he locked the door and let down the blinds so that she – or anyone else – could not peer inside.

_I want to check something _… His words came back to her mind. What could he possibly be wanting to check? – it was just a compartment. There was nothing in it _to_ check. Aislin frowned. Wanting to nose a little but not wanting to be left behind, she followed the thinning crowd and headed towards the door, out onto Hogsmede ground.

Cool, fresh air struck her face as her feet connected with the stone platform; Ash breathed it in, feeling suddenly calmer as it entered her lungs. Surely no air could be as fresh as this. It was not polluted by car fumes, or smoke billowing out of factories: it was the simple, fresh air of untouched countryside. And it was beautiful. Closing her eyes for just a quick moment, she inhaled again, deeply this time, and felt somehow content, despite the day's events. Everything would be OK again now – she was almost at Hogwarts, where she would be safe.

_Back where I belong _…

* * *

Aislin was just able to catch on of the last carriages to Hogwarts before it left her behind in Hogsmede. She climbed inside, and was suddenly surrounded by a mixture of Hufflepuffs and Ranveclaws: she had deliberately let the Slytherins go on ahead in their own little carriages, as she didn't think she could stomach any more time in their company.

"Hi," she said tentatively, casting a friendly smile around the carriage as she sat down. The girl opposite returned her smile, although it was a slightly anxious one at best. The others cast furtive glances at her as the carriage was pulled into action, as if they thought she might attack if they let their guard down for too long.

As the carriage trundled along the road to Hogwarts, scraping past trees and the edge of the Black Lake, Ash did her best not to look out at the unnerving, horse-like creatures which pulled the carriages along, but it was a lost cause. Every now and then, her eyes would struggle back to them, as if they were being pulled by magnets. She couldn't help _but_ look at them, just the same as every year. They were such strange creatures, like nothing else she had ever seen: they were like horses, but so thin – as if they were on the brink of death – that their skeletons could be seen through the skin which clung to their bodies; their features were extremely reptilian, their heads similar to that of a lizard; and on their backs were huge, bat-like wings, which were currently folded to their sides.

In her fifth year at Hogwarts, Aislin had learnt in a Care of Magical Creatures lesson that these creatures – Thestrals, Hagrid had called them – appeared only to those who had seen death.

But Aislin had never witnessed a death. Had she?

Aislin forced herself to tear her eyes away from the strange horses, and instead she looked out towards the Black Lake. With the moon beginning to rise, the glass-like water did not seem black, but rather the deepest shade of blue. Little pinpricks of light reflected in the lake, becoming spots of hope somewhere in the distance, sparkles of life. But somewhere in the distance, a bank of dark, low clouds drifted, heading straight towards Hogwarts.

The atmosphere inside of the carriage was awkward. Her reputation proceeding her, Aislin clearly wasn't someone the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws would have chosen to share a carriage with. They didn't seem bothered that she might listen in on their conversations, but they spoke quietly anyhow, and made little effort to include her.

Aislin tried not to feel stung, and had to pull herself together; after all, this behaviour was hardly unusual.

Turning her attention back to the school, Ash marvelled at its beauty. Silhouetted against the moon, it was like something out of a child's dark fairy tale. In her first year, when she had been taken across the lake to the school, Aislin had been intimidated by the imposing castle, terrified by its size. But now, it felt like a second home to her, with its familiar – most of the time – corridors, classrooms and teachers, with its secret passageways and surprises around every corner. She knew that she could never be bored of it, knew that she never wanted to leave.

Except she _had_ to, at some point – how could she simply abandon her father, only to see him in the holidays for the rest of her life.

No, that wouldn't work.

For now, Aislin didn't really know what career she wanted to pursue once she was old enough to leave Hogwarts. Sometimes, she thought she might like to be a teacher, so that she could stay there forever and teacher her favourite subject – but whenever she thought of her father, these dreams came crashing down. Other times, the idea of training to be Auror seemed exciting and noble. And those few times she had been to the Hospital Wing during her years at Hogwarts, had made Aislin think that maybe becoming a Healer was the best route for her.

So many choices. _Too_ many choices. Ash found that it was best not to dwell on it too much, otherwise her head began to pound.

The carriages turned off down a long pathway surrounded on each side by trees; it trundled along, jolting up and down with each dip and rise of the earth beneath the wheels. Gradually, the trees began to thicken, until you could no longer see past them into the forest beyond – just an intense darkness that might harbour any king of danger. Aislin shivered, not wanting to think about what might live in the midst of those trees.

Soon enough, the Thestrals came to a halt outside a pair of large, wrought-iron gates. They were the height of an average, two-storey building, towering above the path; on each side, identical statues of two lions had been engraved and placed there, looking out toward the carriages. Aislin could have sworn that she had seen one of them follow her with their eyes at the beginning of her second year – it had not happened since, however, although she deliberately watched their eyes as she climbed out of the carriage after the Hufflepuffs, who were already moving on in front of her.

As the gates opened inwards to admit the latest students, they screeched deafeningly on their hinges, as if in pain. Aislin followed those in front of her and crossed the threshold into the Hogwarts grounds; immediately, relief washed over her; the muscles in her shoulders relaxed, and she felt herself physically relaxing – a sensation she had not felt since the attack on the _Hogwarts Express_.

It was good to be back.

* * *

"Hey – watch where you're poking that thing!"

Aislin shifted on her feet uncomfortably as Argus Filch sneered down at her – exposing two long rows of filthy brown and rotten teeth – as he probed her with a Secrecy Sensor. He seemed to have shrunk a little over the holidays, his spine apparently curving forwards and making him appear older than he actually was. He wore a long, brown overcoat and a pair of fingerless gloves on his hands; his hair hung down, lank and greying, by his shoulders. And stood by his feet was Mrs. Norris, the cat he cherished so much.

Mrs. Norris was, as cats went, rather ugly. She had bulging eyes which were a dull, off-yellow; her body was scrawny, as if she did eat enough; her fur was matted and dust-coloured, flecked with browns and darker greys. Aislin had an inkling that this cat was a half-Kneazle, due to its uncanny intelligence and loyalty to its owner, and its ability to detect anyone who was misbehaving.

"Oi! What, you think you're gonna find something in there?" Aislin snapped. Leering, Filch moved the Sensor away from her jeans and up to her waist, where he checked each of her pockets in her jacket. He smirked, and gave her another sharp jab, this time in the stomach. She winced and glared at him darkly.

The Secrecy Sensor was a long, crooked contraption forged of gold. Shaped almost like an aerial, it was designed to detect Dark Magic, concealments and lies. In Filch's rheumatic hands, it was an instrument of pain. He had been using it all evening so as to 'scan' each students who walked through the school's gates; he checked for hidden objects that could not be seen, and possibly potentially dangerous. And each time he sent another student along their way – having found nothing out of the ordinary – he sulked like a child, and took it out on the next pupil who came along.

"Woops," he sniggered, his beady little eyes glinting with obvious delight. "Slipped."

Aislin snorted. "Like _hell_ you did."

Just then, the Sensor began to vibrate. She looked down, and saw it shaking so violently that Filch's arms – she saw with great amusement – were jerking sharply upwards, then down again; his jowls quivered, but there was a look of great satisfaction etched onto his unpleasant features. And she would have laughed, except that Sensor was pointing straight at the pocket of her jacket.

The pocket where her parcel sat.

Her face fell, and the blood fell along with it, draining from her face and down her neck. Mrs. Norris hissed.

"Well, well," Filch muttered triumphantly, "what have we here, then?"

* * *

Aislin sat with her head in her hands, wondering how this day had so rapidly gone downhill. Everything had started off well – although admittedly, she had been sad about leaving her father again – but then it had all taken a turn for the worse. She had been stuck on the train with Draco Malfoy and his evil henchmen; then Pansy Parkinson had ambled in, just to rub salt into the wound; Death Eaters had attacked the train not long after, and Aislin was sure a lump was forming on the back of her head from the fall; now, all of her items were being scanned for concealments and lies, and she felt like a criminal.

_Brilliant_, she thought bitterly as her stomach grumbled.

The bank of low clouds had moved in and settled, concealing the beauty of the Hogwarts sky from sight. There were no longer any stars, at the moon that had been rising between the mountains in the distance had disappeared. And with the clouds came the threat of rain.

_Brilliant_.

Aislin was seated on a small pile of student's luggage trunks, the cogs in her mind churning like a raging tempest. She still couldn't understand what had happened. When the Secrecy Sensor had begun to vibrate, the Aurors that had been standing guard near the school gates – and some off to the sides, watching – came swooping down upon her; they used their wands to levitate the parcel out of her pocket. Argus Filch was grinning from ear to ear, and seemed absolutely thrilled at the prospect that he might have caught a student up to no good – with the evidence right before him!

How on earth could her parcel possibly be cursed? It was insanity!

For the longest time, they observed the parcel, performing various incantations on it, and seemingly finding nothing important. However, they did not want to take any chances, and had called Professor Snape down from the castle to come and take a look, as it was – shockingly – his area of expertise.

In the meantime, Aislin had been pushed off to the side by a tall, gruff-looking Auror, who had sat her down on the pile of suitcases and told her to stay where she was. He stood beside her as a guard, throwing her side-ways glances, as if he thought she might suddenly whip out her wand and start cursing everyone, or make a run for it the moment she thought he wasn't looking. But Aislin was starving, and too exhausted to even _consider_ making a run for it; she thought if she were to take another step away from the school, she might collapse from the lack of food.

So she sat in silence, watching as the last of the students filed in through the school gates on the very last carriage.

Including Draco Malfoy.

He came last, a smirk etched onto his long and pale face.

Aislin watched him as he sauntered past Professor Flitwick, who was stationed by the gates with a long roll of parchment in his hands, taking names. He attempted to call Draco back to him, but Draco – in true Malfoy fashion – continued on, pretending to be oblivious to his little teacher and the Aurors in front of him.

"Not so fast, Mr. Malfoy," Filch grumbled, throwing out the Secrecy Sensor to stop the boy in his tracks. "We've already had one student trying to slip past us without being noticed." His squinting eyes travelled over to Aislin, who scowled back at him.

Malfoy came to a rather reluctant halt and, confused, glanced back over his shoulder in the direction that the caretaker was looking. For the shortest of moments, his eyes met Aislin's, and in that moment, something strange – something Ash could not quite fathom – passed behind his eyes. But then it was gone, and he looked away, as if he had not seen her.

"Back of the queue, Mr. Malfoy."

Rolling his eyes, Draco made his way to the back of the line of students, most of whom were Slytherins. One by one, they were each probed and investigated by Argus Filch; he seemed to take great pleasure in making the pupils anxious, even if it was over nothing. One by one – and much to the caretakers dissatisfaction, however – they were found guilty of nothing and sent along their way; in twos and threes, they made their way up to the castle, following the twinkling lights on the side of the path.

Last of all, Malfoy got his turn. He stepped forward, gripping the case in his hand a little tighter than was necessary. Aislin found herself wondering what was in there as Filch began to probing at the boy with the Sensor, perhaps jabbing it a little too hard into Draco's skin. Unfortunately for Filch, Malfoy did to take quite so kindly to the poking as Aislin had done.

"Get off me, you old _fool!_" he spat, pushing the Secrecy Sensor away with the back of his hand. He glowered at the caretaker.

Then suddenly, Professor Snape made his appearance.

_This day just keeps getting better_, Aislin thought, humiliated.

He appeared as if from nowhere, his hair hanging down around his face like a dark curtain of greasy black. His cape swirled in the air behind him before he came to a stop in front of the caretaker, and his disapproving eyes landed on Aislin.

"You sent for me, Argus," he drawled, in the voice that Ash so despised.

"Indeed, Professor Snape. We fou— Oh, what's this then, eh?" Suddenly, Filch lunged – as quickly as his rheumatism allowed him to – and snatched a long stick from Malfoy's hand. "What do we have here? A cane …"

"It's not a cane, you _cretin_ – it's a walking stick!" Malfoy reached out and took the walking stick – although Aislin, much to her surprise, agreed with Filch's analysis that it looked like a cane – back into his own hands. He did not even seem to care that he had lashed out verbally to a member of the school's staff in front of Professor Snape; and, hardly surprisingly, Snape acted as if he had not noticed.

"I can vouch … for Mr. Malfoy," said Snape, procuring a look of utmost loathing from Filch; he seemed extremely annoyed that his investigative duties had been cut short.

Malfoy was momentarily paralysed. He was staring back, towards the school gates, with a look of shock and hatred on his features. But then he realised he had an audience and composed himself. He shifted the 'walking stick' into his left hand and yelled, "Nice face, Potter!"

Aislin whipped her head around at the mention of the name, and saw the very same Potter stood just inside of the gates, accompanied by Luna Lovegood. She stared at Malfoy as if he were something hardly worth her notice or thought. Harry's face, however, seemed a little out of shape, and blood was tricking from his nose and onto his stained t-shirt; he flashed Malfoy an infuriating smile.

Quickly, Ash looked away, blushing far more furiously than she might care to admit. She was suddenly grateful for the darkness around her.

Draco sneered and turned away, not waiting for Snape before he headed along the path which led up to the castle. His figure slowly grew smaller as he walked, until only his white-blonde hair was visible. But eventually even that, too, disappeared, melting into the darkness as if it were only a shadow itself.

"What is it you wanted me to inspect, Argus?" Snape urged, as Harry and Luna gave their names to Professor Flitwick.

"Ah, yes, Professor. We found something rather suspicious in the possession of Miss Sullivan – over there. We thought you might like to take a look at it."

* * *

"My mother's necklace!"

It didn't make any sense. Aislin's father had told her that an item that had once belonged to her mother was in this very parcel. Ash had imagined climbing into bed that night, well fed and warm; she would have opened up the parcel then, and marvelled at the beauty of the necklace encased inside.

This was not the way she had imagined opening the parcel and discovering what was inside: surrounded by Aurors, Argus Filch and – worst of all – Snape, who wore an unreadable expression on his face. But Aislin could tell his mind was whirring like a machine as his wand flew backwards and forwards across the small object, over and over, muttering about a curse. But that didn't make any sense at all. None of it did!

How could her mother's necklace be cursed?

As necklaces went, it was simple enough, although beautiful and elegant. Hanging from a string of leather was a wooden carving on an owl, so delicate and ornate, so elaborate: each feather was perfectly detailed, its head slightly turned to the left. And set into the socket of each eye were two tiny, cut emeralds, which glinted in the light of the Aurors' lit wands like a shimmering star in the night sky. Admittedly, it was not something Aislin would usually have worn, as jewellery was not really her style; the most she had ever worn more than once was a sterling silver ring that her father had purchased from a craft centre, five years back. Ash was surprised that she still had it today, and that sat on her finger, it was still in perfect condition.

But even if Aislin would not have worn the necklace, it would still have been nice to hang it from her bed in the dormitory, and admire it from her pillow at night. It would have been nice to own something of her mother's, and think of her whenever she saw it.

"Miss … Sullivan," Snape started, levitating the necklace in front of him with his wand.

"Yeah?"

"You say that you … obtained this necklace from your father. Is that correct?" His tone of voice was too condescending for Aislin's liking, but she attempted to ignore it.

"That's correct, sir."

"And your father is a … Muggle?"

_You know this just as well as everyone else!_ "Yes, sir."

"If what you say is true, and you did not curse this necklace yourself —" For whatever reason, Snape seemed sceptical, but he did not press the matter. "— then someone has gotten their hands on this object and cursed it themselves. Since your father gave it to you, has it been in any other hands but your own?"

Aislin thought back to the train ride, but was sure that it had been with her the entire time.

"No, sir – I haven't let it out of my sight."

It only occurred to Ash only afterwards that this might not go down so well for her; if the necklace had not briefly been stolen whilst someone had cursed it, then she had had it in her possession the whole time and had – therefore – cursed it herself. That was the only possible explanation, wasn't it? But she hadn't.

This was absurd!

"Very well, Miss Sullivan," Snape sighed, as if he would rather be trapped in a stuffy classroom full of rowdy students. Which, come to think of it, he probably would. "I do not believe you possess the skill or the … imagination to place such a curse upon this necklace. You may make your way up to the school. And you … understand that I will have to keep this … for the time being. You may have it back once I have fully … examined it and removed the curse. But one more thing, before you leave. You say your father gave this to you?"

"Yes," Aislin said through gritted teeth; if she had to remind him _one_ more time …

"To whom did it belong … before him?"

"My, uh … my mother."

Was it simply a trick of the dim light cast by the Aurors, or did Snape's face visibly drain of colour?

He cleared his throat, and his eyes bore into her own, telling her not to question him. "Very well then, Miss Sullivan," he repeated, "you may go now."

"Yes, sir," said Aislin, trying to hide her disappointment. She wanted badly to reach out and take the necklace from the air in front of her, but she knew that it could possibly harm her, and even if it did not, it would not go down too well with her Professor. So with that, she swept past Filch – who had just sent Harry and Luna along their way – and headed along the path leading to the school's grand entrance.

It was only September, and yet the chill of the night air was beginning to settle in, bringing with it a fine mist that crept in through the woods around her, making them seem suddenly far more imposing, far more insidious. Aislin pulled her robes tighter around her and felt the empty space in her pocket where the parcel had been sat, not so long ago. Not for the first time, she wondered how it had come to be cursed. Her father – being a Muggle – could not possibly have done such a thing. And before that, the only person to have owned it was her mother, and she had been a Muggle too, so the prospect that _she_ had cursed the necklace was simply out of the question.

So then … who _had?

* * *

_

**A/N:** Thank you again for reading this far, everyone.  
So, what do you think? Who's cursed Aislin's necklace, eh? I bet you all have an idea.  
But, then, so do I ... *grins sneakily*  
Please drop me a review and let me know what you think - I'd really appreciate it.  
Stay tuned!  
JollyPen


	6. Reflections

**-chapter five-**  
**_REFLECTIONS_**

The Great Hall was bubbling with the rising and falling of voices, the excited chatter and the general thrum of joy in the air, which was so strong it was almost tangible. As Aislin entered the large room, she felt her spirits lifting immediately, despite the days tiresome events; in fact, it was almost impossible _not_ to feel happy upon entering the Great Hall when such a marvellous feast was in place, and everyone else was cheerful, too.

It seemed that Aislin had already missed the main course, which meant that she had also missed the Sorting. She saw that each table was embellished with towers of profiteroles – chocolate sauce oozing from the middles – and cakes of so many different kinds, it would be impossible to list them all; there were Pumpkin Pasties, Toffee Éclairs and Chocolate Éclairs; there were rows of Treacle Tarts and Crystallised Pineapples and Chocolate gateaus, Cauldron Cakes and every kind of Fudge you could possibly imagine. Aislin's mouth began to water just by looking at them, and her stomach grumbled in response to these thoughts of food. And such delicious food, too.

Yes, things were definitely starting to look up.

At the staff table, Professor Dumbledore – his long, white beard flung over one shoulder – was deep in conversation with Professor McGonagall whilst apparently enjoying a large box of Chocolate Cauldrons. Professor Flitwick was still absent, and Aislin noticed a new Professor sat at the far right hand side of the staff table. From this distance, it was hard to see what he looked like, but Aislin presumed him to be the Professor that Blaise had visited on the train earlier that day. Just before the attack …

_Ugh, stop thinking about it!_

At that moment, Severus Snape entered the Great Hall and swept past Ash, his long black cloak _swish_ing as he made his way toward the staff table. She wondered how long it would take for him to fully examine her mother's necklace and remove the curse before he handed it back to her. She hoped it wouldn't be long.

Nervously tugging the sleeves of her robes down past her fingertips, Aislin started along the hall, weaving through students who were standing and moving through the tables, talking to friends and laughing together.

On each side of the hall were two tables long tables, split in half. On the far sides were the tables for the houses of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, quietly eating their puddings and exchanging news from the summer. And sitting parallel to each other – and forming a long aisle in the centre of the Great Hall – was Gryffindor and Slytherin. Being sworn enemies on principle if not for anything else, Aislin would have thought that those would be the tables to be placed furthest away from each other, just to lessen the likelihood of confrontations and rows. However, it seemed as if the hall and been set up like this intentionally, as if someone _wanted_ there to be a few harsh words exchanged between the two houses, or the occasional scuffle.

_Madness_.

Aislin glanced up at the ceiling of the Great Hall as she walked, gazing through the blanket of floating candles. It had been six years, and still she could not help but marvel at its beauty. Whether it was cloudy and raining, or clear and sunny, the ceiling of the Great Hall was like something out of a fairytale. On contemplation, Aislin supposed that in some way, at least, it _was_. Grand arches stretched across the room, almost invisible due to the fact that the ceiling was enchanted to perfectly reflect the night sky outside, no matter the weather. Now, the cloud was beginning to break, and Ash caught a glimpse of a star, shooting across the sky and leaving behind a short trail of silver.

_Make a wish_ …

Make a wish …

Aislin looked over toward the Gryffindor table and saw Harry Potter, seated between his best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. They were talking in hushed voices, leaning close together so that their heads almost touched, and were able to hear each other with ease over the raucous chatter and laughter in the Great Hall. Aislin could be sure that it was probably something to do with Harry's broken nose – which was now, tremendously, unbroken – and how it had come to happen. Of course Ash had already managed to think of a perfectly plausible scenario in her head, which made more sense than the others that soon followed, each becoming more and more unlikely.

All, however, involved Draco Malfoy.

Her theory – or the first one, at least – would explain why he had declined Pansy Parkinson's hand and had stayed behind on the train, perhaps knowing that Harry was nearby. It would also explain why Harry had shown up at the school gates _after_ Malfoy, rather than before – although, Harry was known for his late arrivals. Aislin thought back to her second year, when the rumour had spread that Harry Potter and Ron Weasley had arrived in a flying car, a blue Ford Anglia. And then in the third year, she remembered striding into the Great Hall after Dumbledore had given his first speech.

Ash gazed wistfully at the Gryffindors all seated together, apparently in perfect harmony. They were eating – some more than others – and laughing and joking, sharing gossip and just generally catching up with each other. Aislin couldn't help but notice that they were like one big, happy family, all huddled together on one table. Like brothers and sisters. Unity.

Then she looked over toward the Slytherin table, and saw the exact opposite.

And no spaces left.

_Great! That's all I need – more Slytherins_. When had the table become so crowded with students? How many newbies had turned up this year, so suddenly?

Dithering like an idiot in the centre of the Great Hall, Aislin looked up and down the Slytherin table, but no matter how hard she wished for a place to rest her legs, none seemed to appear. She supposed that she could always whip out her wand and blast some of her least favourite people from the table, but she didn't suppose that would go down too well with the teachers, all of whom were looking on. Aislin didn't mind detentions as such – it just seemed that she served most of them with Professor Snape: another one to add to the list of her least favourite people.

_Damn it!_ More than ever, Aislin hated Filch for holding her up. Him and his _stupid_ Secrecy Sensor …

But no, of course, there seemed to be _one_ space left, and in the worst possible place imaginable: next to Draco Malfoy, and directly opposite Pansy Parkinson, the latter of whom was yacking incessantly to the former, who apparently wasn't paying any attention. What was happening there?

_I hate Slytherins_, Aislin thought, not for the first time – and certainly not the last, either.

Angrily, Aislin made her way towards the empty space; and as she did so, she realised just how hungry and tired she was. If she had to walk much further, she was sure that she might actually keel over in the middle of the hall; she would wake up, most likely in the Hospital Wing, with a large bruise in the centre of her forehead, and to find that her nose had been mashed into her face. Not a good look.

_Matter over mind_.

Cursing her bad luck – which seemed to be plunging further and further toward _shit_ bad luck – Aislin slid onto the long bench beside Draco Malfoy; he didn't even wrinkle his nose disgustedly as she sat down, or move away as far as possible as if she had contracted some contagious disease. Pansy Parkinson glared at her from across the table, as if it was _her_ fault there was a space left next to Draco Malfoy.

_Don't worry, Pansy_, Aislin thought bitterly. _I'm not enjoying this any more than you are._

It had been six years now since Ash had been Sorted into Slytherin house. Being one of the last to sit under the Sorting Hat, she had gotten an idea of which houses she would have liked to have been Sorted into, and the ones she hadn't; Slytherin had been at the bottom of her list. And then the Sorting Hat had dashed her dreams of ever being a Gryffindor, one of the brave and chivalrous. Instead, she had been cast away as a Slytherin, unable to understand why: she had no ambitions, and she certainly was't cunning. And on top of all that, she was a Muggle-born, something practically unheard of in Slytherin students.

Being in Slytherin, she was generally hated, on principle, throughout the entire school by anyone who wasn't in her own house, and even _they_ didn't like her; they seized every opportunity they possibly could to call her a "Mudblood", and make snide comments about her "dirty blood" heritage. It seemed that there was no respite, and it was something she had come to live with.

But she didn't think about that for long, as her nose drew her attention down to the mouth-watering food before her. So many choices, so many sweets and chocolates and cakes. Where to begin? She was so hungry that her stomach growled loudly – but she didn't care.

Greedily, Aislin reached out for the golden plate of cauldron cakes, intending to take one of the last two; but at the last moment, Pansy Parkinson reached out, grabbed the plate and snatched up both, handing one to the new first-year set to her right and keeping one for herself. She smirked at Ash, then turned away to talk to Daphne Greengrass, whom already seemed to have had their fair share of pudding.

Aislin was just about to speak up when she felt a sharp tug on the sleeve of her robe. She looked around sharply to see Draco Malfoy shaking his head – almost imperceptibly – at her; then he took his hand away and pointed behind her. Frowning – and hoping that he wasn't going to poison her goblet of Pumpkin Juice while her back was turned – Aislin followed the line of his finger, and saw a silver plate of profiteroles drenched in toffee sauce hovering by her head. A smile broke across her face, and before she even thought about it, she turned back to Malfoy to say "thank you", but he had already looked away and was now staring into the contents of his own goblet, deep in thought, his face staring back at him from the liquid inside.

Just then, an icy cold feeling spread throughout Aislin, as if she had just jumped head-first into a frozen – or _almost_ frozen – river. And, as her vision blurred the sights before her were ebbed on colour and saturation, Aislin realised that a ghost had just passed through her – and not just any ghost, but the Bloody Baron. This was not the first time a ghost had accidentally – or accidentally on purpose – passed through Aislin, but she shivered all the same as her sight returned to normal, and colour became real once more. The ghost floated off down the Slytherin table, his legs disappearing beneath it and evoking more shivers wherever he went.

Suddenly, everyone turned their heads toward the Staff Table, and Aislin followed their gaze. As she watched, Dumbledore rose to his feet and held his arms open wide in greeting. There came a great hush over the hall, and the chatter died down almost instantly, as if someone had cast a Silencing Charm upon them all.

"The very best of evenings to you all," Dumbledore spoke, his voice echoing throughout the Great Hall so clearly, that Aislin thought he could have been sat across from her at the Slytherin table. And it was then that Ash noticed the headmaster's right hand, seemingly at the same time as everyone else; there were gasps to be heard throughout the hall, and hushed conversations started up again – for Dumbledore's right hand was blackened as if it had been burnt, or as if it had shrivelled up and died. Aislin looked on in horror, wondering what could have caused such a thing. Noticing the stares and whispers aimed at him, however, Dumbledore shook down his sleeve over the injury, concealing it from sight, and waved his other hand dismissively.

"Nothing to worry about," he said casually. "Now, let us welcome our new students, and welcome back our older ones. Another year crammed full of excitement and magical education awaits you …"

_Let's hope so_, Aislin thought, as Pansy Parkinson snorted derisively.

"… and also, our caretaker – Mr. Filch – has asked me to mention that there is a complete ban on any joke items bought at the shop, _Weasley's Wizard Wheezes_."

Sighs and groans of exasperation erupted throughout the Great Hall.

Dumbledore went on to tell the students that those wishing to try-out for Quidditch should give their names to their Heads of Houses, and that – as the school was looking for a new commentator for the matches – anyone wishing to take on this role should do so likewise. Then came the introduction of the new teacher.

"Now, let us welcome the newest addition of our staff: Mr. Horace Slughorn." Cheers rose in the hall, reverberating off of the walls, as said teacher stood from his seat at the staff table. He was a round, bald man that wore a very large waistcoat, the buttons of which were ready to burst as his stomach tried to escape from it. He bowed slightly as the clapping continued, then reprised his seat, looking thoroughly cheerful. "Professor Slughorn is an old colleague of mine, and has gladly consented to resume his old post … as Potions master."

Aislin felt her heart _smiling_. She applauded along with the majority of the students, a grin spreading across her face; because if this were true, then that meant that Snape was no longer the Potions master. Which meant that …

"Professor Snape, meanwhile," Dumbledore went on, as the cheers died down, "will be taking over the position as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

_NO!_

The applause came to an abrupt halt, and was proceeded by a confused silence. That is, until the Slytherin table – for the first time – jumped into action; they brought their hands together loudly, while Pansy Parkinson whistled … _Whistled!_

_Great_, Aislin thought. _He's going to ruin another perfect class for me_.

Sat to Dumbledore's right, Snape did not stand as Slughorn had to receive his applause, which was somewhat quieter. Instead, he merely raised his hand in acknowledgement and nodded slightly toward the Slytherin table, the only ones who received this news with felicity. But hidden beneath that cool and calculating mask was a look of triumph.

The only person who did not seem to care was Draco Malfoy.

As the cheering from the Slytherin table died down, the only sounds left in the hall was the buzzing of conversation as the rest of the students spoke angrily and with confusion to each other, unable to understand why Dumbledore had made such a decision. Wasn't it widely known that Snape wasn't trusted enough?

Already dreading one of her favourite lessons, Aislin looked away from the staff table and took a large, angry chunk out of a giant profiterole. It helped, a little.

"Now, as I am sure everyone in this hall is aware, Lord Voldemort and his followers are once more at large and gaining in strength as we speak." There was a collective gasp as Dumbledore spoke the Dark Lord's name; Aislin felt herself flinching, although she did not know why. The tension in the air was almost palpable in the air as the hall erupted into harsh whispers of the occurrence earlier on the train. Aislin felt a sliver of cold air down her spine as she thought about it, and instead drew her mind back to what Malfoy had said on the train earlier. What was it he was working on for the Dark Lord? And why had he been chosen? It occurred to her then that he had simply been trying to show off in front of his "friends", although that seemed a lot of effort to go to to try and get Parkinson's attention. She tried to look around as inconspicuously as possible to see if the name had registered on Malfoy's face, but it seemed to have had no effect: he was staring darkly into the goblet still, his face reflected in the silver.

"I am well aware," Dumbledore went on, seemingly able to read the minds of his students, "of what happened earlier today on the train, and I offer my apologies. However, measures were taken to secure your safety as you travelled here to Hogwarts, as I am sure you must have noticed. The school is, likewise, protected."

Dumbledore continued to talk about security measures that had been taken to ensure the students' safety, and measures they could each take themselves to keep each other safe. No night-time wanderings, no leaving the school grounds, no entering the Forbidden Forest, which was forbidden for a reason, and so forth. Everyone listened, drinking his words in.

"But now, your beds await you," Dumbledore announced as his speech came to an end, "as warm and comfortable as you could possibly wish. So I shall therefore say Good-night, and deprive you of that joy no longer. Pip-pip!"

In unison, everyone climbed from their seats at their house tables and made a beeline for the double doors at the entrance to the Great Hall. Usually, the air would once more be filled with the intense noise of hundreds of students all whispering at once. Today, however, there seemed to be some kind of unspoken agreement of silence.

Aislin followed the rest of the Slytherins out of the Great Hall, lagging behind as much as she could to minimise the odds of getting herself tripped by a pair of feet that might appear as if from no where. And for the most part, it worked – she only went stumbling twice. But it was widely acknowledged throughout the Slytherin house that she was a Muggle-born, and not to be trusted. However, as they passed by the Aurors on patrol by the great, double doors of the hall, they were suddenly on their best behaviour, filing past like the good little students they were.

Crabbe and Goyle stayed behind in the Great Hall for as long as they could, trying to cram as many remaining cakes and sweets into their arms as they possibly could before it all disappeared. Then they hurried after their house-mates, holding the cakes in their arms like a mother might hold her baby.

* * *

The Slytherin common room seemed colder than ever. Sure, it was grand, with its plush green sofas and armchairs, posh lights that cast a green glow around the room and the soft – green – rugs that were scattered here and there, in front of the fire and under the seats. But with its low ceiling, green lamps and windowless grey walls, it looked like the dungeon it truly was. And every year, Aislin was sure that ceiling was descending lower. The only source of comforting light and warmth was coming from the fire, roaring in the hearth by a particularly large sofa. During her first year, it had become Aislin's favourite spot in the common room, although – more often than not – it was occupied by Pansy Parkinson, who seemed to have claimed it as her own.

Most of the Slytherins had found their own place to sit by the time Aislin entered the common room; they were huddled in large groups on the sofas and chairs and desks. Pansy Parkinson, as guessed, had already taken over the sofa by the crackling fire. She was smiling and patting the seat beside her, and for one terrifying moment, Aislin thought she girl was looking at her; then Malfoy strode past, but instead of joining Parkinson on the deep green sofa, he headed across the room and straight for the boys' dormitories. Aislin felt a brief – yet slightly guilt-ridden – satisfaction at the look of disappointment on Pansy's face.

Suddenly exhausted, Aislin thought Malfoy may have had the right idea; she made her way toward the little staircase leading up the girl's dormitories. The stairway was narrow, and made Aislin feel a little claustrophobic, but as soon as she stepped into the dormitory for sixth year girls, she felt a little better.

There was no other sign of life inside, and Aislin was eternally grateful for that – all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep.

Around the circular room, several four-poster beds were placed at perfect intervals; hanging from the posts were green, velvet drapes, allowing for privacy – and silence, if you knew the right spell. The floorboards were polished, and made from the wood of an oak tree; as Aislin stepped across them, the one near her bed creaked – just as the one in her old dormitory had. In fact, the entire room looked the same as the one she had slept in last year, and the year before – except it was in a different place. All the same, she wasn't complaining about the creaking board: it would alert her to any Slytherins lurking around near her bed at night.

_You're being paranoid – stop it!_

Aislin crossed the little room and found that her belongings – which had clearly been successfully checked for curses – sat on her bed: her trunk, the bag she had left behind with Filch, and her wand, as she had had to hand that over to be examined, too. But she was glad to see all of her things packed tidily on the bed. Tomorrow morning, she would unpack all of her things and put them in their rightful places: either under the bed, or in the little cabinet beside it. For now, she hauled the trunk off of the bed and placed it noisily underneath, placing a locking charm on it with her wand. The familiar sensation of energy as it coursed though her arm and into the wand made her feel whole again, as if a part of her had disappeared over the summer.

Smiling, Aislin climbed onto her bed and pulled the drapes down around her, enclosing her in a semi-darkness and making her feel a little more at ease. From here, she could not hear the noise downstairs in the common room.

Tired, Aislin shrugged off her robe and laid back against the soft pillows so that she was staring up toward the wooden ceiling of the bed. There was a marking scratched into the wood, which she could not make out – and right now, she did not care to. Visions of her father clouded her mind, which soon became visions of the Death Eaters hurtling toward the train and destroying the bridge; the smoky black trail they had left behind seemed to have been imprinted in her brain. She felt her muscles beginning to tremble just thinking about them, and attempted to dispel any further thought about it.

Cold, Ash kicked off her shoes and climbed under the bed covers – which were green and velvet on top, of course – that she so despised. She rolled onto her side, and thought of the day she had had as the bed began to warm from the heat of her body. As first days went, it certainly hadn't been the best.

Aislin's thoughts drifted from one thing to another, but were mostly focused on the necklace her mother had left behind, the cursed necklace that her father had given to her. She thought of its emerald eyes and how her own had been reflected back at her as she had looked into them. She thought of its wooden feathers, carved so perfectly that it could have been transfigured into a real, living owl. She wondered – over and over – how it had come to be cursed; after all, she had not left it alone for one minute. Who could have done such a thing? When? And more importantly, _why?_

None of it made any sense to Aislin. She closed her eyes, her head throbbing painfully, and the image that rose up behind them were of emerald ones twinkling at her in the darkness, laughing at her. And she hoped, with all her might, that the morning might be able to yield the answers to her questions.

* * *

**A/N:** Aislin is finally back at Hogwarts. **YAY!**  
Things haven't been going well for her so far - will it all begin to look up? You'll have to wait and see.  
Please tune in for chapter six: **Malfoy takes a sneaky stroll**, and more Slytherin-bashing to come -  
'cause that's always fun, right?  
Also *cough* more reviews might make me *cough* update a little faster. *cough cough*  
**Just thought you oughtta know!**


	7. Sneakings and Schedules

**-chapter six-  
****_SNEAKINGS AND SCHEDULES_**

_He was floating, face-down, in the water. His hair floated around his face, concealing his features. His arms were splayed out at his sides, as if he were free-falling through the air. There was a flash of bright, orange light, with threw the figure into silhouette – the figure, and many, many hands. They clawed through the water, black and gnarled, like the knotted branches of an old tree. And then there was darkness _…

Aislin stared up at the ceiling of her four-poster, wishing that there could somehow be windows in the dungeons; she would have given anything to look out across the castle grounds, at the mountains and the lake, at the trees and the distant lights at Hogsmede. But of course, being buried somewhere beneath the Black Lake, the dungeons weren't the sort of place you might find windows.

Despite the lack of windows, however, Aislin was sure that the time was still within the early hours of the morning – it was usually then when the dream decided to strike before having her wake. She could hear no noises in the bed beside her, and wondered whether even an hour had passed since she had collapsed, exhausted, into bed. But no, there were no noises from the common room, either. Which meant that the true morning had not arrived yet, either. It seemed that everyone else's brain was wired to some kind of invisible clock which woke them when it was time for breakfast. But due to the fact that her eyes felt as if they had been glued shut, Ash knew that she must have been asleep for more than a measly hour.

As always, the dream had left her tired, and aching for sleep – and yet sleep was something she knew would not come back to her now. Her heart was still pounding and her breathing was still laboured, as if she had jut run a marathon; a thin sheet of sweat glistened on her forehead, and she wiped it away irritatedly with the back of her hand. Sighing with frustration, Aislin kicked the covers off of her and climbed quietly out of bed: the last thing she wanted to do was wake and anger a roomful of bitchy Slytherins. She pulled a large jumper from the inside of her trunk and pulled it over her head in an effort to ward of the ever-present cold that was felt in the dungeons. Then, carefully, she padded across the dormitory, side-stepping the creaking floorboard next to her own bed; she eased open the door which led out onto the stairway and down into the common room. Staring down the narrow, spiral staircase, she strained her ears for any sound from below – but she heard nothing. She slipped out of the room and closed the door behind her.

Even with her socks on, the cold of the worn stone steps seeped through the material and tickled her feet; she hurried faster down the stairs, shivering already, until she reached the common room. As predicted, it was devoid of any kind of life.

A roaring fire still crackled in the hearth, and Aislin felt its warmth on her face as she drew closer to it, the only source of heat in the cold room – a room that was so cold, in fact, that she kept expecting to see slime dripping down the stone walls whenever she looked too closely, just like it always seemed to in the films. The tapestries on the walls and over the doorway out into the dungeon corridor seemed to hold a little heat, but certainly not enough to keep the room warm. The ticking grandfather clock next to the notice-board read: twenty minutes past four. Aislin had been asleep longer than she had expected; at least she would not be _too_ tired for her lessons later.

With the absence of Pansy Parkinson, Aislin was able to take the spot directly in front of the fire without fear of being called a "filthy Mudblood" or "that piece of filth over there". She relished the feeling as she sat down onto the warm sofa, and buried down into the – admittedly – soft cushions. She stared into the flames of the fire, trying to wash away the images from her dream, but all it did was remind her of the bright flashes of orange light seen from below the water. Was there no reprieve from it?

Even at Hogwarts, she could not escape the nightmare – in fact, if anything, it always came back to her even stronger than before.

Aislin brought her knees up to her chest and rested her feet on the seat on the sofa cushion, wrapping her arms around her legs as she did so. The warmth from the fire was beginning to seep through her skin and into her bones, and it was beautiful; even in the dormitory, huddled up in the bed covers, or dressed in ten layers over a hot-water bottle, it never felt truly warm.

_That's what sleeping in a dungeon does for ya!_ Aislin thought, somewhat bitterly.

But the heat of the fire was something else entirely, something that never failed to reach into your soul and make it smile; it could brighten the darkest of rooms with its warm glow, heat the coldest of fingers and toes. Ash held out her hands and rested her chin in her knees, basking in the light of the fire like a bird in the sun. It made her smile.

The pace of her heart was beginning to slow now, and the pounding in her ears had died down; the throbbing behind her eyes was still infuriatingly persistent, but not quite as painful as it had been before bed. Aislin could feel her body relaxing, returning to normal, and was glad of it. Whenever the dream came to her, the after-effects always left her feeling strangely disconnected, alien – as if she had been off somewhere else for a while before coming back: like when you go away on holiday for a week, and come home to find that it feels different, not quite home just yet. And often, it could take a long time for her mind to feel connected to her body again; it left her with a hollow feeling in a stomach and a bad taste in her mouth.

For what felt like a long time, Aislin simply sat there, watching the flames as they danced higher and higher, crackling and sending little sparks into the air. Against her will, she felt her eyes beginning to droop – the comfortable sofa and the warmth of the fire was making her drowsy. But she forced herself awake, holding her eyes open with her fingertips: she couldn't bear having the dream twice in one night.

But it was an attempt made in vain; once her eyes closed shut, it was impossible to open them again.

* * *

Aislin was startled awake almost an hour later, at first unsure what had woken her. Her eyes flew open, and then clamped shut as the glare of the fire assaulted them. Slowly, she brought up her hand and wiped the sleep away from her eyes, succeeding only in blurring her vision. She blinked several times and sat up, realising that she had fallen into a lying position on the sofa; her neck was stiff, and one leg was hanging off of the edge. She was stiff, but upon realising that the dream hadn't returned to her for a second time, Aislin sighed with relief, allowing her muscles to relax.

It was then that she heard the creaking sound, coming from the staircase.

Aislin whipped her head around too fast and managed to crick her neck, sending a wave of hot pain up its side; she gasped and pressed her hand to it. The creaking sound from the direction of the staircase came to her again; it sounded to Ash like it was one of the dormitory doors, opening and closing.

_Please don't let it be Pansy Parkinson_, she pleaded inside of her mind. _Please, please, please – I'm comfortable here!_

The creaking of a door was followed by soft footsteps in the stairwell – the soft footsteps of someone wearing shoes. Aislin threw herself back down on the sofa, so that anyone coming down those stairs would not be able to see her unless they came closer, whoever it was. _Don't let it be Parkinson, please. If there is any justice in this world, it won't be Parkinson!_ However, the disadvantage of concealing herself from view was that, as the footsteps drew nearer, it was impossible for her to tell _who_ it was.

Nevertheless, it was possible to tell once this person – whomever it was – had reached the common room: the sound of their footsteps changed suddenly as they stepped off of the stone stairs and onto wooden floorboards. Aislin braced herself, remaining as still as possible and listening hard to see which way this person would go. They seemed to stop for a moment, as if they were peering around the room to see if anyone was present, before setting off again – away from Ash, thankfully.

_Interesting_.

Slowly, Aislin sat up again, peering over the back of the sofa so that only her eyes and the very top of her head were visible; in the dim light, it took her a moment to locate the individual, although it should have been obvious: his pale-blonde hair stood out in the dark like a sore thumb – a very sore thumb.

Curiosity piqued, Ash watched as Draco Malfoy headed across the dimly-lit room, his feet making hardly any impact now on the floor. He passed the seating areas and entered the narrow passageway which led out of the common room and took him toward _the_ wall, which led out into the dungeon corridor; from the outside, the correct password had to be spoken to gain entrance to the Slytherin common room. As Malfoy disappeared from her sight, Aislin listened hard, and a few seconds later heard the grating sound of the wall as it slid apart to allow Malfoy out into the corridor.

Aislin span around and glanced at the grandfather clock: the small hand was resting near the five, and the long hand was nearing the thirty; in a few moments, it would chime just once. But what was Malfoy doing up at _this_ time? OK, so Aislin had been up and about earlier than that – sort of – but she hadn't attempted to leave the common room, for fear of finding herself in detention on her first day back. However, the thought of escaping the dark room now and following became increasingly tantalising as question after question ran through her mind: What was Malfoy up to? Where was he going? Did this have anything to do with the task Lord Voldemort had – supposedly – set him?

Dithering somewhere between sitting and standing, Aislin finally decided against it. She didn't want to know, not really. It was the sort of thing that could get her into trouble. And besides, Malfoy had probably just been showing off for Pansy Parkinson yesterday, with all that garbage about working for You-Know-Who.

No, she wouldn't get herself caught out of bed before hours simply so that she could follow Malfoy – she didn't want to know _that_ much. But all the same, that didn't stop her mind from wandering …

* * *

As Aislin entered the Great Hall later that morning, she was pleased to see that the thick cloud from the night before had disappeared, leaving behind a clear blue sky flecked only with little wisps of white. Looking out of the tall windows, the same sight greeted Aislin there, too. A smile spread across her lips.

_Let today be a good one_.

Having left the common room earlier than most of her other 'house-mates', Aislin was able to take whichever seat she wanted: with so many choices, Aislin picked a rather spacious spot towards the end of the Slytherin table. Sitting not too far from her was a group of first-year Slytherins; the girl sat in the middle was looking around with wonderment etched onto her face, as if she had still not come to terms with everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. In all truth, Aislin still hadn't, either.

Stomach rumbling, Aislin pulled _The Standard Book of Spells: Grade Six_ by Miranda Goshawk – the only book she hadn't managed to finish skimming through before returning to school – from her bag; she set it out on the table before her and tucked the bag under the bench, by her feet. Hungrily, she nabbed a piece of toast off of a nearby plate, careful not to drip honey over her fingers, and began to read through the book with her free hand.

The Great Hall was mostly empty of life. A few earlier-risers such as Aislin herself had made their way to breakfast before everyone else, and were fitting in a last little bit of revision before their lessons started. Most were sat on their own, eyes roaming over the pages, and possibly wondering what the day had in store for them. Some had dark rings under their eyes, as if they had no slept very well – _Who could blame them?_ Aislin thought – and were repeatedly suppressing yawns of exhaustion. In comparison, Aislin felt well rested, although she felt that she might have traded in the dream if only she could lie awake at night, worrying about Death Eaters.

At the staff table were only two teachers: Professor Trelawney, who liked to eat at the staff table early lest thirteen people be sat there at one time; and Professor Sprout, who liked to have enough time on her hands to prepare the day's lesson before the students came to the greenhouses.

But as Aislin read through her book and ate five, large slices of toast – she was even hungrier than she had realised – more and more people came shuffling into the Great Hall, all keen on enjoying a good breakfast. With their appearance came excited chatter, and Aislin quickly found reading impossible – she tucked her book away and instead concentrated on chewing properly before she got indigestion. Their voices filled the hall as each sat down at their regular places, and was followed by the scraping of silverware against plates, and china against wood. Soon, Aislin was surrounded by more Slytherins than she might have liked, although she was thankful that most of them were first-years – they were always so much more pleasant!

Before Ash knew it, an hour had passed and the Great Hall was now teeming with life – amazing what only a little time could do. Hagrid, the Care of Magical Creatures teacher, was taking up a least two spaces at the staff table, and was waving quite manically toward the Gryffindor table. There was students everywhere, milling backwards and forwards, eating breakfast and flicking through their textbooks, chatting and exchanging gossip. Now that the fearful tension of the night before had lifted a little, it once again felt a little more like Hogwarts here.

More than once, Aislin wished she had known Hogwarts in the days before Voldemort had ever come to power: she could have enjoyed school life, keen on learning and finding herself a decent job – perhaps even at the Ministry of Magic. Now, there seemed to be a dark cloud hovering over the school, or a metaphorical one, at least. It changed everything.

Aislin saw Malfoy enter the Great Hall later than everyone else. She tried not to appear as if she were looking, but she noticed that he appeared tired and distant; he took a seat close to the double doors leading out into the Entrance Hall and began to play with his food. Once again, Ash conjured up theories in her mind: about the task Malfoy had supposedly been set, what it could possibly be, and where Malfoy had been sneaking off to earlier that morning? For an hour after his departure from the Slytherin common room that morning, Aislin had been throwing around similar theories, although none of them seemed particularly likely.

Suddenly, as the large clock in the Clock Tower churned and tolled for nine o'clock, Professor McGonagall stepped into the Great Hall with a swish of her long, red-velvet cloak. She looked around, taking in all the faces sat around her before heading off along the aisle, toward the staff table; she stopped just in front of Dumbledore's intricate podium and turned to face the students. Then, aware that a select few were watching her, she took her wand from inside her robes and gave it a casual flick. One by one, pieces of flying paper came whizzing into the Great Hall, circling and dancing in the air; they flew so close to the students' heads that Aislin heard them hiss as they flew past her ears.

Gasps and muffled "Wows" started up throughout the Great Hall – mostly from the first-years; this was most likely the only true demonstration of magic they had seen so far, and they were stunned.

Aislin remembered the first time she had seen this in her first year, too: it had been one of those moments she would remember for the rest of her life, no matter how small and trivial it seemed now. For that was the moment she had realised that all of this – magic, the Wizarding World – was real, and not some elaborate dream she had conjured up in her mind.

One by one, the sheets of paper descended through the air and came to land in front of the students to whom they belonged.

Schedules.

In a matter of seconds, the air had emptied of paper, and Aislin was left confused as to where her own timetable had gotten to. However, upon looking around the hall, she saw that none of the sixth-years seemed to have theirs, either.

"Could I have your attention for a moment, please?"

Immediately, the awed and cheerful chatterings in the hall died out, and everyone turned at once to fix their eyes on the Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor. Aislin polished off the last bite of her sixth slice of toast, and followed suit. Everyone – even the Slytherins, to some degree – seemed to hold the woman before them in high esteem; it was obvious by the look of respect and admiration in their eyes as they watched her from their seats.

"Thank you," said loudly so that everyone could hear her clearly. "Now, as you have noticed, you should each have a schedule before you on the table. Keep this safe, as you will need it all throughout the school year – however, it lost, you may approach your Heads of House for a new one.

"So, just to let you know," McGonagall went on, "that your classes are about to begin – all except for the sixth-years: you have a free period this morning." This news was received well by those in their sixth year – including Ash, who wished to get in a little more studying time before classes started. However, dreams of a slow-paced morning were trampled. "Do not get too excited, as I would like all sixth-years to come to me now, as we must discuss the matter of your schedules."

Groan.

"Very well. And to everyone else, you had better be off to your classes, before it is too late. Enjoy the day!"

* * *

Almost an hour later, Aislin left the Great Hall clutching her new schedule.

Whilst waiting for Professor McGonagall to come to the Slytherin table to discuss the timetable, Aislin had continued to skim through _The Standard Book of Spells_ until she got to the end. She had also enjoyed the sudden amount of space she had around her at the table; it was nice not to feel swamped by people you generally didn't like.

Once it was her turn to talk to Professor McGonagall, Aislin was pleased to see that – having received mostly good marks in her O.W.L.s – that she could continue to take her favourite subjects: Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts and Astronomy. However, despite having done well enough in her exams to continue with Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures, Aislin decided to drop those so that she could focus on the subjects she enjoyed the most.

Professor McGonagall had proceeded to tap a piece of parchment in her hand; from the tip of her wand, ink flowed into and branched off, like the fork in a river. Aislin had watched, in a trance-like state, as the ink had wound its way through the paper, swirling and dancing, before it became her new schedule.

"Keep it safe, Miss Sullivan," said the Head of Gryffindor.

"Will do, Professor," Aislin smiled. "Thanks."

Now, stood in the middle of the Entrance Hall, Aislin scanned the parchment for her first lesson, and saw with a sinking heart that it was Defence Against the Dark Arts. She had never had a problem with D.A.D.A. before – except for last year, when Professor Umbridge had been 'teaching' – but now it was being taught by "Slimy" Snape. She had been looking forward to the class this year, hoping for perhaps another Professor Lupin – who was, in her opinion, the best D.A.D.A. teacher that she had ever had at the school. Ash still couldn't believe that Dumbledore had promoted _Snape_, of all people.

With a sigh, Aislin carefully rolled up her schedule and placed it within her school bag. Then – somewhat reluctantly – she headed for the Grand Staircase.

_First stop: Classroom 3C._

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you, o' faithful one, for reading this far. I hope you enjoyed Chapter Six.  
So, **Draco's off sneaking around** - I wonder what he's up to ...? ***scratches chin***  
Now Ash if off to Classroom 3C - Defence Against the Dark Arts. Sounds like a recipe for disaster, methinks.  
**:)**  
Anyway, I might not be updating for a little longer this time - I have **so much** to do!  
But **watch this space**, because Aislin is soon to make a new friend who will change everything as we know it ...  
Oh, and **please review** - because I will love you forever if you do!  
JollyPen


	8. Infelicitas

**-chapter seven-  
**_******INFELICITAS**_

A long queue had already begun to form outside of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom by the time Aislin reached the third floor corridor. Dreading her first lesson of the day, Ash joined the end of the line and noted that most of the pupils around her were Gryffindors – and, like her, they appeared to be just as displeased by the new arrangements as she was. In fact, a few students were voicing their opinions so vehemently that Aislin was sure their new Professor of D.A.D.A. would appear at any moment and give them detention.

In true Slytherin fashion, most of them had not yet arrived. They felt that they should not have to arrive a moment earlier than was necessary; and sometimes they didn't even turn up – especially if Snape were teaching.

To pass the minutes away, Aislin quickly looked through her bag to make sure that she had everything that she needed, including her copy of _Confronting the Faceless_. And in this time, another two groups of – her least favourite – Slytherins arrived. Draco Malfoy led the first, and was followed by – Aislin's eyes widened in shock – Crabbe and Goyle. Behind them came Parkinson with her little band of miscreants, chatting animatedly among themselves. Malfoy queued up behind Aislin, but she was careful to keep as much of a distance between them as possible; shifting closer to Neville Longbottom, she was able to put at least two feet between them. Otherwise, she pretended as if he did not exist, as she knew that it aggravated him – no matter _what_, he loved to be the centre of attention.

Which was why he raised his voice about the chatter in the corridor so that he could be heard.

"Finally, Dumbledore's got something right," he said, facing Crabbe and Goyle as he spoke but addressing the entire class. "Professor Snape's been after this job for years. I don't know why he wasn't appointed _sooner_."

_OK, Malfoy – what _else_ is new?_

Pansy Parkinson giggled – the noise causing Aislin to grind her teeth together – and then proceeded to violently nod her head in agreement, despite the fact that Malfoy could not see her.

Aislin shook her head. _Why, God? Flippin' WHY?_

Suddenly, the chatter at the front of the line came to an abrupt halt, just as the latch on the classroom door clicked. Aislin looked around, and saw that the door had swung wide open, and in its place stood the dark outline of Severus "Slimy" Snape. It seemed as if the light and cheer had been drained from the corridor and out of the window, only to be replaced with a feeling of oppression and uneasiness. And was it just Aislin, or had a bank of dark, threatening clouds appeared all of a sudden, blocking out the sun? And possibly the sound of a wolf howling in distance?

_Cue to the thunder and lightning_, Ash thought.

For a moment, Snape regarded the students in front of him with poorly contained distaste; his nostrils flared as his gaze took in the Gryffindor students, and his black, beady eyes narrowed in suspicion as they swept – briefly – over Aislin.

"Inside," he ordered, before stepping away from the door and marching off towards the front of the classroom, his cloak swishing behind him forbiddingly.

One by one, the students quietly crept into the Defence Against the Dark Arts Classroom, and each noted how much it had changed over the summer.

Last July, the room had still been decorated by Professor Umbridge's preferences – everything had been in _perfect_ order. The desks and chairs were spaced equally. The books on the window-sills were all in line, and ordered alphabetically. There had been a slight pink tinge to the walls, although Aislin still wasn't sure whether it had been a trick of the sunlight glancing off of the Professor's many pink cardigans.

Now, the room had taken on a very sinister appearance. Curtains had been drawn across the windows, blocking out any kind of natural light, and was replaced with candles that cast flickering shadows across the room. Creepy pictures decorated the walls – which had been reverted back to their original colour – and most of them showed scenes of graphic deaths, of torture, of pain; the eyes from inside the pictures seemed to stare right out into the classroom, causing Aislin to shiver. And, just to add to the overall, overbearing darkness of the room, Professor Snape stood in the corner, observing his students as they took their seats; his face was partially obscured by shadow, and the other half was distorted in the glow of candlelight.

Aislin sat down on a hard wooden chair towards the back of the classroom, noticing how much colder the room felt this year.

_Can't be coincidence_, she mused.

"Now," said the Professor, drawing everyone's attention back to him at the front of the class. "I don't believe I asked you all to take your books out, so put them away."

There was a collective wave of sighs and a shuffling of chairs as everyone dropped their copies of _Confronting the Faceless_ back into the school bags before stowing them away under their chairs, out of sight.

_He still thinks he's in the Potions classroom_, Aislin thought dejectedly, leaning back in her chair. _Oh, he's just going to yak the whole hour, isn't he? Preaching about this or that _…

"As hopefully you are all aware by now, you have had five teachers in this subject so far. Naturally, these teachers will have all had their own methods and priorities. Given this, I am surprised so many of you managed to scrape an O.W.L. in this subject."

_And given the fact that your puny little minds are shrinking with each year, I will be even more surprised if you incompetent children will get yourselves a N.E.W.T. in Defence Against the Dark Arts – or any other subject for that matter_. Yep, that sounded like something old "Slimy" would say.

Snape stepped away from the teacher's desk and marched off around the room, weaving between the desks, as he continued on about the standard of teaching and learning, before moving on to discuss the Dark Arts. He spoke about them with the air and respect of someone who knew first-hand what it was like to deal with such magic – or what it was like to _use_ it. Once or twice, he waved a hand in the direction of the pictures hung up around the walls, and would describe what each one depicted – not that it was hard to guess.

"The Dark Lord has used Inferi in the past," said Snape, in answer to Parvati Patil's question, which Aislin – her stomach turning a little as she focused on the picture of a Witch suffering the Cruciatus Curse – had failed to hear, "therefore you would be well advised to assume he may do so again. Now …"

The whole class watched him as he made his way back to the front of the classroom and listened eagerly as he began to speak of non-verbal spells. And upon asking what the advantage would be, Aislin found her hand shooting up into the air – but not as fast as Hermione Granger's.

Snape looked from one to the other, clearly disappointed with shortage of hands and dithering between two evils. Which one to ask …? Aislin enjoyed watching the turmoil on his face.

"Very well – Miss Granger," he decided eventually; Aislin smirked and lowered her hand.

"Your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you're about to perform," Hermione explained. "Therefore giving you a split-second advantage." She seemed pleased with herself as she pushed a lock of bushy brown hair out of her face and clasped her hands together in her lap.

"An answer copied almost word for word from the _Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six_," Snape said spitefully before turning his back on her. At the desk beside Aislin's, Malfoy sniggered loudly; Crabbe snorted in response, and his hand flew to his mouth.

"Like you could do any better, _Malfoy!_" Aislin hissed, leaning sideways on her chair so that he could hear. Malfoy glared at her darkly, and was about to respond when Snape's voice sounded, cutting it off.

"Do you have something you wish to share with the rest of the class, Miss Sullivan?"

Ash felt the colour rising to her cheeks as the rest of the class turned to look at her. Malfoy raised his eyebrows so high that they almost disappeared into his greasy hairline.

"Not really, sir," she responded, careful not to meet anyone's eye. "That's why I whispered."

Muffled laughter broke out through the classroom and was hidden behind hands; she watched in satisfaction as Snape's fists curled at his sides, until his skin turned white and he was gripping his wand so tightly that the joints in his hands almost seemed to protrude through his skin. His face was like thunder, and his black eyes seemed to darken further – if that were possible. The muscle in his jaw twitched.

"Watch your mouth in future, Miss Sullivan," he said at last, with barely contained anger. "Three points from Slytherin."

_Gasp. Not three whole points from Slytherin_.

Ash saw how hard it was for him to say those words, how he had trouble even forming his lips around them. Surely taking points from Slytherin must have been one of his worst nightmares. Well, that and Shampoo … Aislin had to swallow another laugh as she pictured Professor Snape running through the school corridors with giant bottles of Shampoo chasing after him.

* * *

"_Tarantallegra_."

Aislin's eyes grew wide, and ducked out of the way just as the Tarantella Dance jinx went whizzing past her ear; it came so close that she felt it ruffle the hairs on the side of her head. Behind her, she heard it lose momentum and sink to the floor.

"What the _hell_ was that?" Ash demanded, turning on Millicent Bulstrode, to whom she had been paired with for the non-verbal spells exercise due to the fact that no one else would go with her. However, she suspected that Millicent didn't want to be partners with her purely to expand her social circle. "Don't you know what _non_-verbal means?"

_Hmm, that could probably be deemed as the most ridiculous question of the week_.

Millicent Bulstrode pushed her black hair off of her forehead and jutted out her chin menacingly before sneering at Aislin, revealing a set of crooked teeth; one of which seemed to be missing.

Professor Snape – who had been passing at the time – did not stop to correct Bulstrode; if anything, Aislin could have sworn she saw a smile playing at his lips, and she felt another surge of hatred towards him. He swept past them, not even acknowledging the fact that Millicent Bulstrode had been doing the exact opposite of what he had asked the rest of the class to do. Aislin scowled as the Professor walked past and proceeded to stand behind her, breathing down Neville Longbottom's neck as he attempted to cast a non-verbal spell.

Five minutes ago, the class had been made to stand and leave their bags somewhere to the side of the room; then Professor Snape had flicked his wand and the tables and chairs had disappeared, leaving a large, empty space in the middle of the room where everyone could practice in pairs.

There was a sudden bang over the other side of the room; Aislin whipped her head around in time to see smoke curling around the tip of Seamus Finnigan's wand, his face smudged with black.

Millicent Bulstrode now appeared to be attempting a non-verbal spell, although it clearly wasn't going very well. Her pudgy face became extremely red, and a sweat broke out across her brow; her eyes were screwed up tight, as if she were deep in concentration, and her wand hand shook violently.

Ash took this opportunity to practice casting a Shield Charm using only the thoughts in her mind. She took a deep breath, but did not close her eyes – not a good idea when facing a rather aggressive Slytherin with more than a tendency for violence. Then, with all her concentration, she held her wand high – as if she were under attack – and yelled within her mind: _Protego!_

Smiling, Aislin felt her arm begin to grow warm; it coursed along her arm, slowly and slowly, before petering out before reaching her hand. Concentrating, she took a deep breath and tried again, throwing all of her energy into the incantation.

_Protego!_

"Ha-ha," she grinned, just as a bright shield of light erupted from the end of her wand. _Yes – I did it!_ She wanted to whoop and jump up in the air like a little kid, but looking around and seeing that neither Pansy Parkinson or Draco Malfoy had managed to cast a non-verbal spell was reward in itself.

Meanwhile, Millicent Bulstrode gave up, as her face turned from beetroot red to a deep shade of purple.

_Perhaps her head will explode_, Aislin thought, trying not to get her hopes up …

Just then, Millicent Bulstrode whipped her head up so that her eyes began to bore a hole in Aislin's forehead. Then, jaw set, she muttered a spell under her breath and a jet orange light sprouted from the the end of her wand and hurtled towards Ash. However, the attack had been an expected one, and Aislin was ready – or at least, she hoped she was.

_This had better work!_

Concentrating harder than she thought she ever had in her entire life, Aislin raised her wand once again and cried out – silently – the incantation for the Caterwauling Charm. She felt that familiar heat move down from her right shoulder down to her wrist, through her hand and into the wood of the wand. And then, in a rush, the charm escaped her wand and sped towards Bulstrode, who seemed momentarily caught off guard. But she quickly gained her composure and raised her wand.

"_Protego!_" she muttered, and it was all Aislin could do not to cry out, _Cheat!_

Unfortunately, this time, Aislin did not have a spare moment to cast her own shield charm as her own spell came rebounding back towards her. Hurriedly, she ducked out of the way – almost tripping over someone's discarded school robes as she did so – and saw the spell disappear over her shoulder. And turning, wide-eyed, she watched as the spell collided with the back of Severus Snape's slimy head. The man stumbled forward slightly, knocking Neville Longbottom to the floor, before regaining himself and whirling to confront Aislin, who faced him with a mixture of amusement and despair. His cold eyes locked onto hers, and he opened his mouth to speak.

But only a high-pitched, yowling sound escaped past his lips.

By this time, the entire class had ceased their practice and now had their eyes trained on their Professor. And now, as he opened his mouth once more, only to emit a loud shrieking sound – like that of a cat in pain – laughter erupted around the room, mostly from the Gryffindors assembled. And Aislin, of course. She knew that she was now in deep _shit_ – for lack of a better word – but she honestly didn't care; Professor Snape could give her detention from now until after Christmas, and she still wouldn't care.

Snape's eyes narrowed until they were only tiny little slits peeking out through his curtains of black hair. But it seemed he could not stop, for his mouth opened once more and the same yowling noise echoed throughout the classroom, bouncing off of the walls, so high-pitched that Aislin thought the windows might smash, sending shards of pointed glass outwards into the sky. Some hid their laughter behind their hands, as if that muffled the noise, and others simply didn't bother.

Eventually, Snape raised his wand and pointed it at the side of his neck; his eyes narrowed further, until they seemed to sink back into his skull; deep creases appeared between his eyebrows and in thick waves across his forehead. Then a wave of white mist spiralled out of the Professor's wand, and elongated, snaked around his neck until it could not longer be seen. Once or twice, ol' Slimy opened his mouth again and another shriek came out, although Aislin noted that each time, the sound grew quieter and quieter, until eventually it had vanished altogether. The white mist slowly disappeared, as if it were being syphoned back into Snape's wand, and he experimented with his voice one last time.

Unfortunately, it was back to normal once more.

_Go on then_, Aislin though. _Get it over with – unleash your wrath. Take away fifty points or something from Slytherin? Can you even do that yet?_

Snape's beady black eyes focused on Aislin, then moved across to Millicent Bulstrode; her face was extremely red, as if she had been laughing along with the majority of the class, and she appeared to be biting her tongue to hold something back. But as soon as the girl saw her teacher's piercing eyes boring into her own, she lifted a pudgy finger and pointed it at Aislin.

_Busted_.

Aislin felt her heart sink and a knew a detention was imminent as Snape's dark eyes swivelled to focus on her. One of his black eyebrows raised, and behind the anger there seemed to be a hint of … delight? Perhaps he had been waiting all summer for the chance to punish her once again. After all, her little stunt last year – when she'd accidentally tripped Snape down two flights of stairs – that had caused Slytherin the loss of quite a few points had not gone down quite so well with him. Still, that hadn't _really_ been here fault now, had it? If he hadn't been such a clumsy oaf …

"I have already given you a warning today, Miss Sullivan," Snape drawled, venom dripping from his voice. "Do you enjoy spending time in detention?"

Ash felt the heat rising in her cheeks, wishing that the attention of every student in the classroom was not now focused on her.

_Don't answer_, the little voice inside of her head warned. _Keep extremely quiet_.

Whenever the reasonable part of Aislin offered her little gems of advice, Ash usually tried to listen to it. When Professor Snape smirked at her, however, it suddenly seemed extremely hard.

"Very well. Detention, Miss Sullivan. Saturday evening, my office. You know the drill by now. Oh," he added, before turning away, "and were you aware that the Caterwauling Charm is not, in fact, a Jinx?"

_I should have known – what with the fact it's called a _Charm!

If she hadn't known better, Aislin thought that ol' Slimy might have actually started _cackling_ as he walked away from her, triumph etched onto his features. "Resume," he said loudly to the rest of the class, and there was a shuffling of feet as the practising continued.

Millicent Bulstrode was sneering as Aislin turned back to her; and over the other girl's shoulder, Aislin saw Vincent Crabbe sniggering in her direction and Malfoy looking slightly red, as if he were holding in a laugh.

"Philistines," Aislin muttered to herself, and little red sparks erupted from the tip of her wand.

Grinning – and showing her crooked teeth – Millicent Bulstrode raised her wand once more, murmured, "_Rictumsempra_," and sent a jet of red light towards Aislin.

_Protego!_

Just in time, Aislin was able to block the Tickling Charm – clearly Bulstrode wasn't aware that _that_ was a Charm as well – and send it ricocheting back at Millicent, who looked faintly surprised before throwing herself sideways and out of its way. Aislin only had a second to register surprise, before the spell went crashing into Draco Malfoy's inflated, blonde head.

Immediately, Draco began to squirm and writhe, his body jerking left and right. Crabbe stopped and watched the "boss" with a thoughtful expression on his face, as if he were trying to figure out what was happening. Then suddenly, Draco collapsed to the floor and a torrent of hysterical laughter exploded from his lips.

_Uh-oh_.

All at once, the class stopped and their faces all turned in unison to watch Malfoy rolling around on the floor; he was clutching at his sides, his limbs flailing in every direction, his peaky face suddenly red from laughing so hard.

"Ooh-hoo, ha-ha!"

Aislin stood with her wand held down by her side, watching with a mixture of joy and – yes, more sinking of the heart.

Rolling his eyes, Snape picked his way across the room, not hesitating to push those out of his path who stood in his way. He came to a stop, hovering over Draco Malfoy, before whipping out his wand once again and pointing it at the writhing boy on the floor.

Almost instantaneously, the tickling sensation stopped, and Malfoy's laughter subsided. He laid in an exhausted heap on the floor, breathing heavily and staring up at the ceiling.

Snape stowed away his wand, then reached down and grasped Malfoy's collar in his hand; he hauled Malfoy to his feet and held him steady. He looked the boy over distastefully, before turning on Aislin. "Are you aware, Miss Sullivan, that the Tickling Charm is – once more – not a Jinx?"

_You _always _assume it's me_.

Malfoy was now angrily brushing himself off, removing the fine layer of dust from the back of his robes and pushing his ruffled hair – which had been stuck to his forehead by a thin sheen of sweat – off of his face. Then, his face still red from both the laughter and perhaps the embarrassment, he turned to face Aislin, his features hard and his mouth set into a scowl. Ash raised an eyebrow at him.

"I am not sure, Miss Sullivan, how you have managed to scrape a pass in this subject—"

Scrape_ a pass? Didn't I get an E?_

"—but it seems to me to be a wonder, when clearly you spell-casting is erratic and needs serious improvement. Are you completely incapable of aiming, I ask?"

Rage began to swell inside of Aislin's chest, but she bit her tongue and managed to keep it bottled up inside.

"I think," Snape continued, "that perhaps another detention might serve you well. Same time, same place, Miss Sullivan – next Saturday. And … another three points from Slytherin."

_Gasp. Not three whole points from Slytherin_.

Cheeks burning, Aislin watched as Snape stalked away, itching to hit him with a particularly nasty spell. However, she tried to curb her anger, as she didn't want to spend her entire school year in detention; this hadn't been the best of starts for her, _that_ was for sure.

The entire Slytherin class were sending her dark looks; Millicent Bulstrode managed to accomplish a mixture of a grin and a scowl. Pansy Parkinson and her evil hench-gals all glared; Malfoy gritted his teeth, his hands balling into fists at his sides; Crabbe – stood behind him – watched Aislin with an evil glint in his eyes and cracked his knuckles menacingly.

_Not if you know what's good for ya, Crabbe. Not if you know what's good for ya!_

* * *

Aislin left the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom an hour later – which felt more like five – sporting a a homework-leaden bag, a slightly wounded ego and a smile on her face; who knew they could all come hand-in-hand?

_Oh well – looks like we have double Defence Against the Dark Arts every Monday. Whoop-de-bloody-doo!_

Sixth-year Gryffindor and Slytherin students were filing out around her, talking excitedly. The Slytherins took it upon themselves to bash into her as they scuttled past and yell insults back at her as they headed off along the third-floor corridor. But she didn't let that bother her, because as they Gryffindors walked past, they looked over their shoulders at her with respect written on their faces. Some even smiled, and Seamus Finnigan patted her on the back; his face was still streaked with black from the explosion earlier, his eyebrows a little singed around the edges. She offered him a smile as he walked away.

"She got two of my least favourite people in five minutes," Ron Weasley chuckled from somewhere behind her. Aislin felt her cheeks redden, able to pick out his distinctive voice from the crowd. "It was brilliant."

"Yes, but Snape looked furious," said Hermione Granger, stating the obvious.

"It was still brilliant."

"Just wish she could have knocked the two of them unconscious," Harry Potter grumbled, still fuming about Snape's attack on him ten minutes after Aislin's attack on Snape; she could hear it in his voice.

"Maybe next time, mate," said Ron. "Maybe next time."

_Maybe next time_.

Aislin smiled and pulled out her schedule from her school bag, which had mercifully remained in tact; Parkinson had a bad habit of ripping them apart with a flick of her wand when she was angry.

At that moment, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle decided that they were going to walk past. The huge, overweight lump that was Gregory Goyle crashed into her side, sending her stumbling sideways into Neville Longbottom, whom had had the misfortune to be walking next to her as it happened.

"Teach you a lesson, Mudblood," Goyle grunted; Crabbe snorted like a pig, and a Malfoy sneered as he looked back over his shoulder at her, his grey eyes promising trouble.

_Bad luck, Malfoy!_

Aislin gritted her teeth and bent to retrieve her timetable, which had been knocked from her hands. Then she straightened up and saw that Neville Longbottom was still standing beside her, a look of sympathy on his face.

"I'm sorry, I— Are you OK?"

He nodded.

"I'm sorry," blundered Ash once more, feeling guilty. "I didn't mean to … knock into you."

Neville turned a deep shade of red. "Don't worry. It-it's not your fault, anyway. I get it a lot – from Crabbe and Goyle, th-that is. Are … _you_ all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I get it a lot, too. Probably have a bruise there tomorrow, though," Aislin chuckled, somewhat nervously. This was the first time anyone had directly spoken to her from outside of Slytherin. It was … strange, but nice at the same time.

"Y-you're in Slytherin, aren't you?" Neville asked.

Aislin scratched her arm anxiously and pulled her bag further over her shoulder. "Yeah. Lucky me, eh?" She waited anxiously for Neville to casually slip away from her, like people normally did. When he did not, however, she said, "I'm Aislin, by the way. Although, uh, most people just know me as Sullivan." She offered Neville her hand, and hoped that it wasn't sweaty – and that he might actually take it.

He did. "Neville Longbottom."

"Nice to meet you, Neville Longbottom."

_Have I just made a friend?_

* * *

**A/N:** Firstly, I would like to apologise for neglecting to updating - I love writing _Veritas_, but I've  
just been so busy lately that I haven't really been able to get into it. But here I am!  
**:)**  
So, Ash is in trouble - again - and Neville is her new friend. Might not seem like such a big development,  
but if everything goes the way I'm hoping it does, it'll play a big part is Aislin's story.  
**Coming soon:** Aislin causes some more trouble, the Slytherins get bashed a little more (isn't it fun?),  
and Malfoy finally snaps! Juicy stuff, eh?  
My fingers are really aching right now, but I'm sue a couple of reviews might make 'em better!  
***wink wink***


	9. Lotions and Potions

**-chapter eight-  
**_******LOTIONS AND POTIONS**_

Aislin was late for Double Potions as she raced down the steps onto the Entrance Hall, her school bag crashing into the back of her legs as she ran, her feet slapping against stone and marble; she imagined she must have been quite a sight, had anyone seen her.

After the two hours of Defence Against the Dark Arts, Ash had hurried to the library, planning to take advantage of her free period and start Slimy's stupid essay – might as well get it over and done with as soon as possible. However, ten minutes of gathering books on non-verbal spells had proved to be extremely tedious – or perhaps Aislin had still simply been tired from her restless sleep the night before – and she had found herself drifting off to sleep at the table. At first, there had been only darkness – but then everything had started to turn weird.

Firstly, she had been chased along the dungeon's corridor by Professor Snape, who hurled abuse at her, along with the papers and papers that turned out to be her non-verbal essay – which just _wasn't good enough!_ Then suddenly, the greasy hair and the billowing cloak disappeared, to be replaced by a giant, wooden owl. It waddled after her as she made her way along the seemingly-endless corridor, hooting so loudly her ears rang and spewing emerald gems in her direction. But soon, the wooden feathers vanished, and a horde of Death Eaters took its place. They fired off spell after spell towards the back of her head, which she narrowly missed by ducking down a side corridor that she didn't recognise. She lost the Death Eaters – but then Mr. Blobby stepped out of the Potions classroom, rolling his eyes and flailing his limbs, before trundling towards her at inhuman speeds …

Upon jerking awake, Aislin found that just under two hours had passed, meaning that she was late for her two hours in the dungeons _and_ had missed lunch! How had she not heard the bell ringing for the next lesson?

Typical – the one time she didn't dream her usual dream, she had nightmares about _Mr. Blobby_ instead!

_Shit, shit, shit!_

Disentangling herself from the book she had been reading before falling asleep – something about the easiest non-verbal spells known to Wizard-kind – Aislin had gathered her books and a blank piece of parchment back into her bag before jumping up from the table. Her neck was so stiff from falling asleep _on_ the table that she could barely turn it to the right, and her left leg had such a terrible case of pins-and-needles that she stumbled out of the library, Madam Pince calling angrily after her.

Now, Aislin was pleased that some of the feeling was beginning to return to her leg, although the pins-and-needles stubbornly remained, no matter how fast she ran. Her neck seemed to have forgiven her, too: it was giving her less grief as she began to descend the slimy stairs into the dungeons – she'd be able to do a complete 360 one of these days!

_Can't seem to escape this place_, Ash thought bitterly, her trainers slipping on the cold, stone steps that led down into the dungeon corridor.

It was kind of easy to see how Snape had fallen down them that time, when the stairwell had been crowded with kids as they left their lesson, anxious to be out of that chilly classroom. Aislin knew: she'd been one of them. Still, he had only himself to blame – at least, that was the excuse she satisfied herself with. _Everyone_ knew that you didn't try to push your way through a churning herd of students – who wouldn't stop if a bomb came crashing down on them – with the many untrustworthy slabs of stone and nothing to grab onto if you fell; or at least, nothing inanimate that might be sturdy enough to hold your weight. Aislin imagined that Malfoy's noggin still hurt a little at the back. In fact, she couldn't believe he didn't have a bald patch – not even a little one.

_Some people have all the luck_.

More than once, Aislin almost went flying herself, but managed to keep _somewhat _upright by pressing herself closer to the wall – an extremely unpleasant experience, due to the thick layer of slime.

_Hmm_ … _Malfoy and Snape must stock up here!_

The stone beneath her feet _clack_ed with each fall of her feet, as if she were wearing high heels – not the most appropriate footwear for the dungeons, that was for sure.

The temperature took a sudden dive as Aislin stepped through the wooden door at the bottom of the staircase – which she made it to, relatively unscathed – then out into the corridor. Her breath rose in a cloud of white mist in front of her face, and spiralled away towards the vaulted ceiling. It reminded her of the Dementors that had guarded the grounds of Hogwarts during her third year …

Rubbing her hands together, Ash set off at a brisk pace along the corridor, narrowly avoiding the Bloody Baron as he drifted towards the Slytherin Common Room.

Ash began to make up an array of excuses for being late in her head as she headed towards the Potions classroom; after all, she had no idea what this new teacher was like – what if he was even worse than Snape?

_No, that can't be possible!_ she thought with a shiver.

Having dismissed that thought, however, Aislin still entered the Potions classroom with some trepidation, opening the door as quietly as she could and slipping inside.

The room was already filled with students and heady aromas. Aislin detected the scent of old books and hot chocolate, treacle tart and ash wood; it made her light-headed.

Gathered at their cauldrons were the students who had progressed to N.E.W.T. level Potions. Aislin was pleased to see that Crabbe and Goyle hadn't managed to pass their O.W.L. in the subject, and that there were only three Slytherins in the room: Malfoy, Parkinson, and Nott – Sullivan, including herself. That was better than an entire half of a class taking up room. In addition, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley had all managed to achieve the required O.W.L. Seamus Finnigan, too, had evidently passed, and was making hushed conversation with Ron. And then there were four Ravenclaws and two Hufflepuffs – all of whom seated at the longest table. Which simply left the available chair at the Slytherin table, placed between Pansy Parkinson and Theodore Nott. Aislin couldn't believe how rapidly it was all going downhill as she moved – reluctantly towards it.

_I hate my life!_

At the front of the classroom stood the new teacher: Professor Slughorn. From behind, Aislin could not see his face, only the red velvet waistcoat around his middle, which seemed to be several sizes too small for him; underneath, he wore a long white shirt with ruffled cuffs, and a pair of dark green trousers. He was humming to himself as wrote on the blackboard at the front of the class.

Treading as carefully as possible, Aislin reached out her arm to slide the chair from under the desk – which was the exact same moment Professor Slughorn decided to turn around.

"How are you getting on, class, I—" The teacher stopped in his tracks, his eyes fixing on Ash for the first time. "Ah, I see we have a late arrival."

For at least the third time that day, all the eyes in the room darted towards her; Malfoy leaned across the Slytherin table to mutter something into Nott's ear. Aislin felt her cheeks reddening again, and wanted the ground to swallow her whole. Parkinson smirked pompously up at her. She turned her face towards Professor Slughorn, and was immediately reminded of a walrus, with his over-the-top moustache and his bulging stomach. However, she was surprised to see that his round face did not appear angry – rather, amused.

"And who are you?" he enquired, his mouth barely visible beneath the grey 'tache.

"Um, Aislin Sullivan, sir," Ash replied quickly. "Look, I'm sorry I'm late! I was in the library—" Ron Weasley snickered. "—and I just …"

"Not to worry, not to worry," said Professor Slughorn with a dismissal wave of his hand. "Non-verbal spells, eh? Yes, they get the better of all of us."

"How d'you—?"

"It's written all over your face, my dear."

There was muffled laughter throughout the room, coming particularly from Pansy, and the blush started to creep back to her cheeks again. Surely there was only a limited about of times one person could be embarrassed in one day!

"Do take your seat, Miss Sullivan," Slughorn continued, oblivious to her humiliation as he made his way back to the front of the room. "And let me catch you up. I'm sure you will have noticed by now the cauldrons placed between the tables around the room; I concocted these myself especially for the lesson. This one over here—" He pointed to the one closest to the Slytherin table. "—is Veritaserum – you will have heard of it, I am sure. Forces the drinker to reveal the truth and so forth. And that one over there is Polyjuice Potion – I was just telling the class that it has been featured in the new Ministry leaflets. And _that_ one is Amortentia, the most potent love potion in the world." Slughorn smiled and almost danced backwards to his desk, where a small little cauldron sat, bubbling away. "But this one right here in the object of all our desires today. Felix Felicis – or _liquid luck_, as it is more commonly known. I'm sure you can guess what this one does.

"Your extra homework today, Miss Sullivan, will be to write me out a short piece on all of the potions I have mentioned: their names, of course, along with their characteristics, purposes and side-effects." The professor made his way back towards her, eyebrows raised. "Can you do that?"

Aislin nodded eagerly. It was a better punishment for being late than Snape had ever given her – i.e., detention!

"Well then – on with the lesson. Continue, class. Miss Sullivan, follow me."

Ash went to leave her bag at the remaining seat, but quickly thought better of it before following Slughorn to the storage cupboard. It was filled to the brim with every kind of potions ingredient one could could possibly imagine.

"The task today is to attempt to create the Draught of Living Death," Slughorn explained to Aislin is a quiet voice, as if this information were strictly confidential. They stopped at the cupboard. "The person with the most impressive effort come the end of the lesson will win a small vial of Felix Felicis. Page ten of your copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ will instruct you on how to brew it correctly. I have the ingredients up on the board there. Any questions?"

Shaking her head, Aislin replied, "No."

"Very well. Good luck, Miss Sullivan."

And with that, Professor Slughorn span on his feet and waddled back towards his desk.

Brushing her hair out of her face, Aislin looked to the blackboard and tried to memorise the ingredients needed; the thick air and the sugary smell of treacle tart was making it hard to concentrate, though. Just as she was reaching for the crushed snake fangs, however, someone barged into her from the side.

"Out of the way, Mudblood!"

Aislin stumbled backwards, almost dropping the fangs, and only managed to save herself from falling by grabbing onto the closest table. She looked up, only to see a shock of greasy blonde hair, and Draco Malfoy's hands rummaging through the cupboard.

"You ever heard of a queue?" Ash hissed, feeling an irrational urge to poke him in the eye with the tip of her wand – which wasn't really irrational.

Malfoy – with his hands full of Valerian roots – turned to look at her as if she were mad, his eyes wide and sporting a feverish spark. "Whatever."

Once he was gone, Aislin went back to searching for the ingredients. She knew that she wasn't in with a chance of winning the Felix Felicis – one glance at Hermione Granger's cauldron was enough to tell her that. But she was determined to do a better job than Malfoy. She found Asphodel and Wormwood, and threw in a Sopophorous bean for good measure. It was then that her hand landed on a jar of Doxy eggs. Peering back over her shoulder, Aislin watched Malfoy as he frantically chopped up his Valerian roots, and an idea began to form in her mind.

* * *

The potions classroom was slowly heating up with the fires simmering beneath the black cauldrons. Aislin's hands were no longer stiff, and her neck had given up trying to cause her grief.

Ever since Aislin had taken her seat at the Slytherin table, Malfoy had been having trouble with his potion. It bubbled and boiled, and turned from red to blue, to every other colour in existence – except the blackcurrant-colour that signified the half-way point. Frustrated, he ran his hands through his hair – which Aislin knew he would compulsively flatten down later – madly attempting to cut up the Sopophorous bean, and having no luck; he had to keep darting to the store cupboard because the bean kept shooting off around the room.

An hour passed, followed by another thirty minutes of leisure. All the while, Aislin took her time with her potion, enjoying the show. It made her late arrival at class and the knowledge that she had no chance of winning a little more bearable. Even the look of distaste on Pansy Parkinson's face wasn't enough to bring her down.

Malfoy flew back to the table, almost knocking Nott from his seat. Deep frown lines appeared between his eyebrows as he frantically stirred the liquid inside his cauldron, which was now a deep shade of yellow-green. A sheen of sweat coated his forehead, sticking his greasy hair to the skin; his usually pale cheeks were bright red. Along with the crazy glint in his eyes, he looked positively mental. What _was_ that guy's problem?

Aislin found that trying to cut the Sopophorous bean was a ridiculous game, and took up too much time. It was clear that Malfoy had veered off track – she couldn't help smiling at this point – but Parkinson and Nott had managed to keep it together, and their potions were both a deep shade of purple. Aislin took her knife and crushed the bean with the flat edge of the blade, a feat which proved to be much easier than chopping. After all, it was only the juices needed, not the bean itself.

Shortly afterwards, Aislin's potion had turned from blackcurrant to a shimmering lilac, and Malfoy looked about ready to tear his hair out. Maybe there would be a bald patch there, after all. His teeth were gritted tightly together, and the muscle in his jaw jumped. He peered around at the ingredients lying on the table in front of him, confused.

Pansy glared from Aislin, to her cauldron and then back again, her lip curling like a feral animal. The colour of her potion had remained the same for a good five minutes now – she should have reached the 'clear liquid' stage.

_Better luck next time, Parkinson!_

Professor Slughorn meandered his way through the tables, occasionally stopping to peer into a cauldron, or to give a potion a stir. Upon reaching the Slytherin table, nodded at Pansy Parkinson's effort, and smiled at Nott, who had progressed further. But the smile became a grimace across his face as he came upon Malfoy, whose effort now looked like a cauldron of bogeys. He quickly moved on without saying anything, and Draco clenched his hands into fists.

"Good effort, Miss Sullivan!" Slughorn beamed, coming to stand beside her. "You know, it's a pity you got here so late – you would have been in with a very fine chance of winning."

"Yeah, good effort," Nott agreed, then – once Slughorn had moved out of earshot – added, "for a _mudblood_."

The insult was not entirely unexpected – Aislin had been wondering how long it would take before one of them perked up. But the viciousness in his voice made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on her end, and set the blood in her veins boiling.

"That's real nice, _Theo_," she spat back. "You kiss Megan Jones with that mouth?"

Pansy – who had her nose stuck into the conversation like a dog sticks its nose into a rabbit hole – gaped at Nott, her mouth forming a perfect 'o' shape. Her eyes almost popped out of her head, and she snapped the pencil she held between her hands.

Aislin grinned. _Good luck_, she mouthed to Nott.

"Megan Jones?" Pansy repeated.

"Look, I—"

"Megan Jones? The mudblood from Hufflepuff? _That's_ the mystery girl you've been seeing?"

Draco was staring at Nott, as if only seeing his house-mate for the first time.

Nott threw Ash a death glare before fixing his attention on Pansy. "It was just the one time," he excused himself, a note of desperation in his low voice.

"And you chose to tell _her?_" demanded Parkinson, hooking her thumb at Aislin.

"I didn't _tell_ her anyth—"

At that moment, there came a loud bubbling noise – so loud, in fact, that it drowned out the Slytherins bickering. In unison, they turned their heads towards Malfoy, who was staring down at his cauldron warily. And it didn't take long for them to realise why.

The potion had turned from bogey-green to a matte-textured, pale-blue. Large bubbles erupted from its depths, and puffs of steam billowed from the depths, like a dragon puffing out smoke. As the four watched, it appeared to grow before their eyes, mesmerising to watch. But it was Pansy who had the right idea: she pushed her chair back and out of the way as the potion boiled over the edges of the cauldron and flooded onto the table. Aislin's eyes went wide as the potion coalesced and trailed across the table, taking on a life of its own.

_Interesting _…

Malfoy scooted backwards as well, chair screeching against the stone floor, but not before drops of the potion fell over the edge of the table and landed on Draco's knees. He immediately flew to his feet, madly waving his arms before dashing off towards the other end of the classroom; he sent Seamus Finnigan tumbling to the floor, all the while making strange hiccup noises.

Slughorn came waddling over at the commotion, then immediately began to back away. Malfoy's cauldron – if possible – groaned; the potion seemed to be growing as a balloon inflates.

"Everyone, take cover, it's out of control – it's about to explode!" Slughorn yelled above the din. Without hesitation, the class obeyed: just one look at the potion was enough to send them ducking beneath their tables, shielding faces with school books and bags.

Aislin followed suit, climbing under the non-contaminated end of the table and waiting for the inevitable. Pansy had run to the other end of the room – where Malfoy stood, tapping at his knees – screaming hysterically, eyes darting around wildly. Nott actually looked relieved as he slipped beneath the table after Ash – so relieved, in fact, that he didn't even glower at her.

The entire class waited with bated breath; they heard the potion bubble and groan, flooding over the end of the table and dripping onto the cobbled floor. Aislin stared at the underside of the table, half-expecting it to cave in over her head. They waited for it to explode: one minute, two minutes …

Professor Slughorn cowered behind one of the stone pillars, wrinkles seeming suddenly deeper as he peered around the side. His eyebrows knotted together as he stared at the potion, and then—

_Pop_.

Aislin barely even flinched as the potion 'exploded'. She saw droplets of lumpy, blue potion cascade through the air and land on the Hufflepuff table, the floor – and the ceiling, of course, as the force of the 'explosion' drove it upwards. Around the room, various students jumped, then let out great whooshes of air as one upon realising the worst hadn't been all that bad; they sounded like an audience of doped-up morons.

Rolling her eyes, Ash climbed out from under the table.

"No, Miss Sullivan, be careful—"

"_Ouch!_"

Wincing, Aislin looked up, and saw that a tiny lump of the potion had dripped off of the edge of the table and landed on her cheek. Cursing her thirst for vengeance, she lifted her hand to her face and wiped away the blue liquid from her cheek – only to swear aloud as the palm of her hand began to sting. Nott chuckled from somewhere behind her.

Slughorn sighed and stepped out from behind the pillar, looking somewhat disgruntled. He tottered over to the place where she crouched, nursing her smarting hand. He flourished his wand from an inner pocket of his waistcoat, and gave it a quick flick; within a split-second, the potion disappeared from her hand – and then the rest of the room: the floor, the ceiling, the desks and the cauldron itself. Then, just as quickly, he stowed his wand away and peered down at her hand.

"Nasty, nasty …" he muttered, grimacing. "You'll be just fine though, I'm sure – but better to go to Madam Pomfrey: she'll know exactly what to do."

The stinging – so much like a dull burning sensation – was growing gradually worse. The palm of her hand had come up in a lumpy rash, which looked very much like the texture of the potion itself; and the skin effected had turned a pale blue. Aislin climbed to her feet, a reel of profanities running through her head.

Malfoy chose that moment to return to his table. Despite the disappearance of his potion – it was going wrong anyway, Aislin reasoned – he peered into the cauldron, a series of emotion flitting across his face: disappointment, anger and – something else? It was then that Ash noticed the holes at the knees of his trousers, and the blue skin beneath … She bit her tongue.

"I don't know what went wrong there, Mr. Malfoy," said Slughorn with a shake of his head. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say Doxy eggs." He chuckled.

Immediately, Malfoy's head snapped up, and his eyes locked onto Aislin's. The prominent emotion on his face became anger then, contorting his features; his lip curled, and the vein in his forehead looked as if it were about to pop. Aislin met his malicious gaze defiantly, without recoiling.

Professor Slughorn did not notice. "Oh, it got you too, I see," he remarked, noticing for the first time the state Draco was in. For a moment, the professor looked troubled – but he quickly shook it off. He turned away from them and faced the rest of the class. "Did anyone else get _hit_ by the potion?"

There was a quick shaking of heads, just as Seamus Finnigan's potion disappeared in a puff of smoke.

"Very well. Off you go, you two – we don't want it getting any worse now, do we?" The professor grinned uneasily, then added, "Oh, and if you feel like fainting, just … whistle."

_If I feel like fainting, the last thing on my mind will me whistling … No offence, sir!_

Aware of every single pair of eyes watching them, Aislin and Draco made their way towards the door after receiving a gentle nudge in the back from Professor Slughorn. Ash snatched her bag from the chair where she had left it – she could see the two spots where the potion had hit it, as there were two large scorch marks. Malfoy's eyes bored holes into the side of her head as she opened the latch and stepped out into the dungeon corridor.

_What a day, what a day?_

_

* * *

_

"This is so weird."

Aislin chuckled to herself as she ascended the dungeon stairs, up towards the real world again. She lifted her hand to her cheek, where the skin was raw and bumpy – and blue, even though she couldn't see it. Suddenly, she thought she knew what a toad must feel like. The rash seemed to have spread since the potion had been removed from her face, but Ash was not deterred.

Malfoy was off sulking somewhere ahead, hands clenched into fists, his head bowed. He sounded like a stampede of elephants, stomping down on each step like he was, the sound reverberating off of the curved stone walls; surely that was hurting his knees! Shockingly, he hadn't said a word ever since they had left potions, but Ash could feel his anger bubbling beneath the surface. The rage radiating from his body reminded her of days at the beach in the baking sun, when you could see the waves of heat rippling above the pebbles whichever way you looked.

_Give it time_, she thought, dreading it and looking forward to the explosion at the same time. _And what's with all the explosions, anyhow?_

Meanwhile, the smarting on her hand had dulled a little to a persistent throbbing. Aislin was aware of it, but found it was no longer distracting. The rash had spread across her palm, and was curling its way towards her fingers. A little voice at the back of her head told her that she was stupid, that she should be a little concerned for her own health right now – who knew what the potion might do to her? But one look at Malfoy's face was enough to silence it completely. She bit back a laugh.

With her good hand, Aislin hitched her school bag higher and peered back down the spiralling steps leading to the dungeons. She heard clapping and cheering as she made her way higher. Twenty minutes ago, she would have said that Hermione Granger would win that contest, hands-down! After seeing Harry Potter's attempt in the last fifteen minutes, however, she could no longer be sure who had won.

Aislin's smile was cut short when she turned around, only to come face-to-face with Malfoy; she hadn't heard him stop in his pursuit up the stairs. She jumped backwards, almost falling, and was saved only as she leant forward slightly at the last moment. His face was a mask of thunder; lips pursed together and fair eyebrows meeting at the middle, he was the epitome of anger. His hair fell into his face, no longer greased backwards, and cast long shadows across his flushed face. Stood on the next step up, he easily loomed over Ash, stared down his nose at her.

"Malfoy – personal space …" she reminded him, waving her hand like someone might shoo away a cat.

"Why did you do it?" he spat, ignoring her comment.

Aislin sniggered, and made to try and move past him. "Oh boy, you're not still mad about that, are you?"

The stairwell was so narrow that Malfoy was easily able to block her path – he slapped out his arm and pressed his hand against the far wall, impeding her in her tracks. "Why did you do it?" he repeated through bared teeth.

Opening her eyes wide, Aislin peered up at him with that innocent look that worked on her father. Once, she had accidentally broken one of his many photographs of her mother; in order for him to forgive her, she had strapped on that innocent face and worked her magic. It appeared that it no longer worked as age took her, though: Malfoy was not fazed. "Do what?"

He sneered at her, and seemed to grow in height. "Doxy eggs. That's a good one," he said. "I wondered why my potion was going wrong."

"I have no idea what you're talking about!"

"You slipped the Doxy eggs into my potion, I know you did!"

"Couldn't it just be that you _suck_ at potions?" Aislin suggested, indignant.

He ignored the jibe, too. "Just tell me why you did it!"

"What makes you think I did anything?"

"I just … I _know_ you did!" Draco spluttered.

"Oh, well congratulations! You'd better go tell Professor Trelawney to step aside. '_Draco Malfoy – new psychic on the block!_'"

Malfoy frowned. "What?"

"I— I mean, it's just— Never mind!"

Using his confusion as an advantage, Aislin ducked under his arm. But she hadn't gotten very far before he recovered. He span and caught her by the wrist with one hand, and with the other he grabbed her collar; taken by surprise, Ash was shoved back against the mouldy wall of the staircase. She saw stars as her head collided with stone, and she blinked them away furiously. Once her vision returned to normal, all she could see was Malfoy's face in her own, every single hair falling across his cold, grey eyes – which were now only a few inches above hers. They flickered with a raging sea of indiscernible emotions. The torches flickering behind him highlighted the hollows of his cheeks, the angular slanting of his chin. His hands were pressed to the wall on either side of her head, blocking her escape, closing her in. She was reminded of the time she had gotten stuck in that elevator in Exeter …

Ash had been threatened by Slytherins before – and it was always the same. Empty promises, and all that. Crabbe and Goyle had enjoyed frightening her in her first year, but that had quickly subsided: one did start to wonder when nothing came of blackmail … But she had never been physically confronted before – at least, not to this extent. Perhaps a barge to the shoulder here, or a nudge there. Never cornered, murder looking her in the eye.

"You lost me the potion," Malfoy ground out through gritted teeth. The muscle in his jaw jumped as he stared straight into her eyes, as if he could pry out a confession that way.

_Better luck next time, Malfoy!_

Aislin felt her chest constricting, her breath shortening, her heart racing. Her palms began to sweat, and all she could feel was the heat of Draco's body, so close to hers. She swallowed against the tide of claustrophobia that threatened to overwhelm her, and met Malfoy's gaze with a defiant, unwavering one of her own.

"I did no such thing!" insisted Ash. "Did you see Potter's potion?" _Ah, alliteration._

Malfoy's lip curved upwards at the very mention of the boy with glasses. "No, I did _not_ see _Potter's_ potion, because I was too busy trying to salvage my own."

"Right …" Aislin pressed herself harder against the wall, as if that might offer her a little more room. It didn't. "So, remind me – why is it you wanted this _Felix Felicis_ so badly?" she enquired, shifting the direction of conversation – if this could be called conversation, so much as poetical backlash – over to him.

"It— It's none of your business why I wanted the— _No!_ Don't try to change the subject," he said suddenly, raising his voice to something above a snake-like hiss. More of his platinum hair fell from its grease-like grip, and his face became harder – if that were at all possible. He bore down on her, closer … "Listen here, you little mudblood: I'm not letting you go until you tell me!"

Aislin had only ever experienced hysteria once in her life, and it was a feeling she had tried to trap somewhere deep down inside of her over the years; yet she was sure she felt its sparks darting around inside of her stomach, almost catching …

_Oh, I dunno – why would I spike your potion with Doxy eggs? Nope, it's a mystery to me_ …

Slowly, Ash raised just one eyebrow, hoping to convey everything in that one gesture. "Take a guess, Malfoy?" _Then step away, for the love of God!_

It would have been entertaining to watch Malfoy replay their day's-worth of conversation in just thirty seconds – under any other circumstances. But all Aislin could see were his arms trapping her, feel his hot breath on her face, tickling her skin and smelling fainting of apples. He was much, much too close …

Suddenly, Draco's face softened, if only for a second. The muscles in his arms relaxed, and he let them fall to his sides. Aislin felt some of the weight that had been resting on her shoulders, pressing down on her, release a little. For that one moment, he seemed to gathered himself, and the clarity returned to his eyes. He, too, was breathing heavily – as if he had just run a marathon. But it vanished quickly, and the same sneer returned to tug at his features.

"So … you admit you messed with my potion?" he asked.

Aislin took as inconspicuous a deep breath as she possible could; her racing heart gradually returned to normal, and no longer sounded as if it wanted to explode from her chest; she rubbed her palms against her material of her robes, and stared Malfoy in the eye.

"Will your head spontaneously combust if I say no?"

* * *

"Considering the potion has no real name, I've concocted something – a sort of lotion – that should help to take away the rash and calm the stinging. It's a mixture of a Blemish Blitzer, a Boil-Cure, a Bruise-Removal _and_ a Burn-Healing paste. It must be taken externally. At the same time, over the course of the next hour, I'd like you both to take this, an assortment of potions that should increase the strength of the lotions, and work rather effectively themselves: it contains the antidote to common poisons – and _un_common poisons – and a rather strong dosage of Doxycide, which should work its way straight to the cause of the problem. This is to be taken _in_ternally, and must be finished it within the hour. Got that?"

When Madam Pomfrey finally stopped for breath, Aislin and Malfoy both nodded their understanding.

"OK, good!" Madam Pomfrey rose from her perch at the end of the hospital bed, which creaked as her weight left it – only for her to sit back down again. "Miss Sullivan, what is that on your face?"

"Um ... the rash we were just talking about?"

Madam Pomfrey sighed. "Come here."

Obligingly, Aislin leant forward, only for the matron to grab her head in her hands, and tilt it to the side. She pursed her lips, then pulled out a handkerchief from the belt of her red robes.

"'_To cast and effective non-verbal spell _...'" Madam Pomfrey quoted, reading from Aislin's cheek. "Defence Against the Dark Arts homework?" the nurse guessed.

_It's written all over your face, my dear_. Suddenly, Professor Slughorn's words made more sense; the directions to cast a non-verbal spell had printed onto her cheek after she had been sleeping on that stupid book. Malfoy sniggered.

Madam Pomfrey wiped away the writing from Aislin's cheek with the handkerchief. "If you need me," said the woman, "I'll be in my office. And I'd like to both to stay exactly where you are – I don't want to come back only to find that you've collapsed on my floor. I'll be in and out to check on you."

"Sounds good," Aislin agreed with enthusiasm. _Except for the 'stay where you are' part_.

With a sigh, Aislin looked across at Malfoy, who was seated next to her on the bed. He had his legs stretched out in front of him, the material of his trousers still simmering a little at the knees. His dishevelled hair hung in curtains around the sides of his face, concealing his eyes; and in his hand he held a glass of a translucent, acid-green potion that looked more dangerous that the potion it was supposed to counteract. Aislin had a similar glass in her own hand – the one that had not been effected by the disaster of a potion – and could say from experience that it actually tasted much better than it looked.

"It's not fatal, is it?" he asked the school matron, all the attitude from earlier lost from his voice; now, he sounded like a child, innocent – _almost_ – and scared.

Madam Pomfrey laughed – something that Ash had never seen before. Her lips curved upwards, and her eyes scrunched together. Then her eyes met that of Aislin's and she laughed even harder.

"Of course not, Mr. Malfoy. Goodness me, you do make a fuss."

And with that, she left, chuckling as she went.

"It's not fatal, is it?" Ash repeated in a mock-terrified tone once Madam Pomfrey was out of ear-shot. "It won't kill me – will it, Mummy?" Malfoy whipped his head around to glare at her, his face turning a deep shade of red – but his eyes were stone-cold.

"Just shut your face!" he snarled, and let his hair fall across his brow once more.

Aislin bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing and took a sip from the glass in her hand. It tasted like one might expect summer to taste: fruity and fresh, and everything in between. It felt cool and wonderful as it made its way to her stomach.

For the longest time, the two sat in resentful silence. Malfoy remained stubbornly impassive, staring off into the distance; Aislin sat as far away from him as she could, but had to resist the urge to look at his face – every time she did, the overwhelming sensation of laughter bubbling up inside threatened to take hold; wrestling with one's instinct was hard work. Occasionally, they would take a sip from the glasses they had been given, but never did they say a word. And eventually, the resentful silence disappeared and in its place came uncomfortable silence – which was even worse.

The hospital wing was large, and being the beginning of term, was empty as well. This was a good thing, of course – but it was still a bore being stuck in there on one's own. Malfoy hardly counted as company. The beds stretched out before them, kept neat and tidy; like the kind of beds you might find in a prison, however, they appeared out of place here in the hospital wing. Up on the fourth floor, Aislin had a good view of the school grounds from where she sat; the sky was still a bright, clean blue, completely untainted by dark clouds that had been hanging around so often of late.

Ash fidgeted where she sat, but eventually couldn't take the silence any more. "Did you know that the average person loses 100,000 brain cells every day?"

Malfoy sighed, frustrated. "What?"

"Yeah, it's true. Amazing, huh? Of course, in your case, they'd probably have to recalculate, as it's possible you're losing more than that. Which, in hindsight, might explain the fact that – well, y'know …"

"You've got a bloody nerve," Malfoy hissed, recapturing his initial anger as the venom poured from his voice, "talking to me like that – especially after everything you've done! It should be _me_ insulting _you_, not the other way around—"

_Why don't you, then?_

"Just _wait_ until I tell my fath—"

But Aislin ignored her house-enemy's raving, swatting away his empty threats as if they were merely annoying little flies – which to her mind, they were – before taking another sip of her potion. "And don't _even_ get me started on Crabbe and Goyle. They might have to invent a whole new number for those goons!"

Draco had finished his potion a long time ago, gulping it down in spite of Madam Pomfrey's warnings not to; the glass was now discarded somewhere on the bed. He clenched his hands into fists, looking very much as if he wanted to punch the living daylights out of the girl sitting next to him. His mouth opened – ready to unleash another rant, most likely – when Madam Pomfrey decided to put in her appearance.

"How are we getting on?" the woman asked, raising an eyebrow as Malfoy – who had been climbing to his feet – sank back down onto the bed.

Aislin shifted away from Malfoy. "Just dandy."

"Very well. Let's take a look at you both, then."

Madam Pomfrey whipped out her wand and gave it a flick; immediately, a chair pulled up in front of the bed, and the matron sat herself down on it, turning first to Aislin. "Hold out your hand."

Ash did as instructed, unclenching her fist so that her palm was visible; in a bid to distract herself earlier, she had completely forgotten the patch of blue skin there. Madam Pomfrey took it within her fingers and scrutinised the rash with narrowed eyes. Occasionally, she _hmm_ed and _aah_ed; but eventually, she let it go and smiled.

"It's progressing well; the blue pallor has disappeared, and the blotchiness has faded. Does it still sting?"

"Not any more," said Aislin truthfully.

"Good, good. And now you, Mr. Malfoy. How are your knees?"

This time, Draco barely spoke – only to answer a question instead of asking one. And five minutes later, Madam Pomfrey departed to her office again, with the promise that she would be back in another fifteen minutes; at which time, she said, Aislin and Draco should be ready to be discharged from the hospital. Ash kept her fingers crossed.

As soon as the matron disappeared, Aislin climbed to her feet; her legs were stiff, and she couldn't stand sitting right next to Malfoy any longer, the smell of burning material still clinging to his person. She made her way around the end of the bed and sat on the other side, facing the opposite direction. Once again, they lapsed into silence.

This time, it was Malfoy who broke it.

"Is Nott really seeing that Jones girl?" he asked, voice subdued.

Aislin was so surprised she let out a bark of laughter, which she quickly fought to suppress. And she couldn't help notice that he had said 'Jones', rather than 'mudblood', as Parkinson had.

"If I'd made it up he'd have denied it, wouldn't he?" she pointed out, only for him to shrug when she peered back over her shoulder; he was hunched over, head bowed. "You won't give her any trouble, will you?" Aislin added as an afterthought. It hadn't occurred to her earlier upon revealing the kiss how this news might effect the girl from Hufflepuff. Prejudice was a funny thing.

"Sure."

"Is that 'sure' you won't give her any trouble, or 'sure' you will?"

"That's 'sure' _I won't!_" Malfoy snapped, voice rising above it's normal pitch, reverberating off of the bare walls.

Aislin held her hands up in a gesture of surrender, but she was smiling. All the same, she'd keep a look out for Megan Jones; her taste – and principles, it seemed – when it came to guys must seriously have been corrupt if she'd gone for Nott in the first place, but she didn't deserve hassle from the Pride of Slytherin.

"What's all this fuss, then?"

Aislin whipped her head around at the sound of Madam Pomfrey's voice. The matron came shuffling out of her office, holding two bottles of the same pink-coloured lotion that she had applied to their rash just an hour earlier.

"I see you've finished your potions," Madam Pomfrey commented. "Good, good – I'm glad to see that it was effective. Now that your rashes have almost cleared up, you may leave – but only if you take a bottle each of the lotion I made for you earlier. I'd like you to apply it twice a day: once in the morning – preferably as soon as you wake – and once again at night, before you go to sleep."

Aislin accepted the potion from the school nurse with a sincere 'thank you', and tucked it into the pocket of her robes; Malfoy, on the other hand, took his without word, only a look of dislike. Then, without further ado, Aislin hopped up from the bed and dashed towards the door, leaving Malfoy behind. Spending an hour in the same room with him, alone, had been complete agony – almost. The sooner she got out of here, the better …

She had just reached the door when suddenly it burst open, and one of Aislin's least favourite people came bustling into the wing.

"Oh, you're still here, are you?" said Pansy, coming to a stop before she ran Aislin over. She immediately crossed her arms and pursed her lips, pug-face looking even more puggish with her eyes screwed up like that!

Ash frowned, and looked down. "Hey, whaddaya know?"

"Where's Draco?" the girl demanded suspiciously, without even looking around the room; had she done so, she would have seen Malfoy climbing to his feet, then stopping short at the sight before him.

"Oh, no worries, _Parkinson_," Ash replied, employing that sarcastic tone she found so effective when it came to pissing off members of the Slytherin house. "I merely killed him and buried him in the grounds."

"Hmm." It was then that Pansy's eyes found Draco, and her face lit up. She gasped, then – with one last disapproving scowl in Aislin's direction – scurried off past Ash and ran straight for Draco. She opened her arms wide and threw them around his neck; and instead of responding, he went completely rigid, eyes going wide. "Oh, Draco," she crooned, "why would you put Doxy eggs in your potion?"

Aislin – who had been watching the entire display with the taste of bile in the back of her mouth – caught Malfoy's eye from the doorway and grinned. His face, already a picture of annoyance, fell further. Then she mimed vomiting as Pansy stroked his hair and ran her fingers down his arm.

In one last bid to annoy him, Ash raised her arm and gave him a quick wave; then she set off down the fourth-floor corridor, chuckling to herself.

_If looks could kill_.

* * *

**A/N**: First off, I would like to apologise for the delay in updating. I've just been so busy lately, and this chapter has seriously been **a thorn in my side **- everything just felt wrong.  
But here's a nice, long chapter for you, to make up for it!  
Aislin had a dream about Mr. Blobby - ? - got her revenge, and Malfoy had a breakdown. Phew, that's a lot in one chapter.  
**:)**  
Please click the little button below and **review** - I'd love to hear what you think!  
**Coming soon**: Aislin's curiosity gets the better of her - although hopefully won't kill her - and Snape returns her necklace ... **but something's missing!**


	10. Author's Note

**A/N:**

This is just a quick update to say hi to my lovely followers (and of course, any newcomers), and to say sorry for being so inactive lately.

A couple of months ago, I was in the process of writing the next chapter, when my computer crashed. We tried everything to get it working again, but nothing helped. So I had to have it fixed by a professional — and when I finally got it back, everything had been wiped off (I'd been warned of this beforehand, but it was either this or buy a new laptop, and I just can't afford that right now).

***pulls hair out***

So I had to start from scratch, including the original story that I'm writing, too (i.e., not a fanfic). As a result, I might not be updating for a while longer, but I'm going to try getting back into it. It's not so bad with this story, because I have everything I've written so far (except for the next chapter, of course) stored here on fanfiction. But I'm so sad about losing my other story, I haven't really felt like writing much — especially as I now have college (including maths classes). But …

**I'll be back!**

Promise.

The next chapter might be a little shorter than it's predecessors, but hopefully you'll enjoy it — and won't have forgotten everything that's happened before, due to the chasm-like space in time between the last chapter I wrote and this one.

When I eventually upload it, I'll wipe of this note, so I don't muck up the chapter numbering thing more than I already have.

Hope all you guys are well. And see you again soon.  
(Not literally, but you get the idea!)

**-JP**


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